


Draco Malfoy and the Cousin He'd Never Asked for (Thank You Very Much)

by DracoWillHearAboutThis



Series: Do It All Over Again [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Draco & Harry Friendship, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Puberty, Series Retold, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-04-22 09:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14305386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoWillHearAboutThis/pseuds/DracoWillHearAboutThis
Summary: Draco had to wonder, though, why in Merlin's name it was alwayshisfamily bringing about their doom, like a screwed up version of that ridiculous Muggle Christmas character Hermione had told him about. Why couldn't it, for once, be a distant Weasley relative to be led astray, or really, anyone who was not sharing a bloodline with him? But that would be too easy, Draco figured, and if his life was anything, it was always horribly difficult.Draco enters his third year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and if he expected himself to be used to drama and life-threatening plots this time around, he was, sadly, mistaken.





	1. Draco’s Problematic Family and New Secrets to Keep

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back, my dear readers!!
> 
> Thank you so much for all your comments on the end of the second instalment, and all your kind well-wishes for my graduation! ;___; I passed my final exam and am finally a free elf, at least for now. So I decided to celebrate this happy event by posting the first chapter of the third instalment. 
> 
> I'm not going to give too much away. I hope you will enjoy this one as much as the other two, and that you will have patience with my lame self so I can catch up on writing. Please drop me a comment and tell me what you think (and motivate me to actually work instead of just bathing in my free time lol)!

Draco’s summer holidays were a little better than his previous ones, though it would still be a stretch to say he enjoyed them. His father had stopped communicating completely both with him and his mother, which, in Draco’s eyes, was a definite improvement, but did not exactly contribute positively to the atmosphere within the Manor. 

And, despite Harry’s promises at King’s Cross before they had parted ways, he had, once again, heard very little from his friend. It seemed that Weasley, a few days into their holidays, had attempted to call Harry via the Muggle number the other boy had given them, but had reached Harry’s relatives and failed so spectacularly at leading a conversation with them that Hermione had insisted none of them should try again. Draco was glad to not have to meddle with Muggle technologies, but very annoyed that Weasley had so carelessly collapsed the one channel of contact that had been available to them.

Hedwig had turned up at his house from time to time, apparently searching the contact to Aquila, and once or twice, he had given her a letter for Harry upon her return. The first had gone unanswered; the second had brought forth a short, hastily scribbled note explaining that the Muggles had locked away all of Harry’s school things, including his writing utensils, and that they had prohibited any form of communication to the Wizarding World. 

_I sneak down sometimes and break into the cupboard so I can do my homework, or in this case, answer your letter. I’m doing okay, but I think it’s better if you don’t write to me unless it’s absolutely necessary. If the Dursley’s realise I’m receiving letters they’ll have my head. I’m sorry. I miss you._

Draco had made one more exception for Harry’s birthday, figuring that presents would count as a necessity. His mother had gone out to Diagon Alley with him, choosing proper clothing and sweets for his friend, happily spending the Malfoy family funds without his father’s consent. 

“The boy saved your life,” she had huffed. “The least we can do is give him something else to wear than those lumps the Muggles provided him with.”

His mother, in a development most surprising to Draco, had taken quite a liking to Harry. Not only had she helped choose his birthday presents, but she had also sat down with Draco sometime in July to have a long talk following the Sirius Black’s break out of Azkaban. Draco had known that his cousin had been sentenced to a lifetime in prison for murder, just like his Aunt Bellatrix and her husband had, but he had been more than a little shocked to hear the background story of his late great-aunt Walburga’s son. 

“Sirius, like your aunt Andromeda, was disinherited early,” his mother had explained gravely. “Walburga did not approve of the company he kept, as well as his ideals - not unlike your father and you, actually,” she added with a little smile. “It’s intriguing how history repeats itself sometimes.”

“But if he was rebelling against pureblood elitism,” Draco frowned. “how come he ended up a Death Eater?”

“That I cannot answer, darling,” she sighed. “Neither I nor your father ever knew about his involvement with the Dark Lord, though, mind you, no one ever knew the identity of every single Death Eater but the Dark Lord himself. It was not, after all, a merry little club with a list of members pinned to the wall. Most of the work was done underhand, and it was safer for everyone if as many people as possible stayed in the dark about your own alliances.” Her tone was functional, but her expression was tense as she spoke. “What I can tell you, though, is that there is a connection between Sirius and the Potter family.”

“Are you serious?” Draco asked, stunned.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Sirius and James Potter were the best of friends throughout their school days, and as far as I know up till the Potters’ deaths. Which was why the revelation that Sirius had worked for the other side created such an uproar.”

“So he was a spy, you mean?” Draco prodded, feeling sicker by the minute. 

“It is assumed that he was,” she shrugged. “I wish I could give you any details, darling, but I don’t have them.”

“Do you think he had anything to do with the death of Harry’s parents?” Draco muttered, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer. 

“Chances are good he did,” she said simply.

“Oh Merlin,” he whispered, taking a deep breath. “Why are you telling me this?” he enquired, at last. 

“Because,” his mother said softly. “there is a possibility that Harry is in danger if Sirius happens across him, and not only do you have a life debt to him, but I know that you would never forgive yourself if anything happened to your friend if you could have prevented. So I want you to be aware of the peril.” Draco couldn’t find his voice to return anything, so he just nodded. His mother put a gentle hand on his shoulder as a sign of comfort. “I also think that you should not disclose any of this information to Harry himself.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, his voice choked. “I promised not to lie or hide anything from him after what happened last term. I have to tell him!”

“Draco,” she said gently. “Please think about it. How would the boy react to such news? To knowing that the criminal who might have been involved in his parents’ murder was running free?”

Draco gulped, understanding sinking into his stomach like a sack of stones. 

“He’d do something stupid,” Draco agreed. “He always does when he’s angry.”

“I really think that, in this case, it is better if he remains in the dark,” she affirmed. “With some luck, the Ministry will recapture Sirius quickly, and he will never have to find out. But with the information you have, you will be able to look out for him.”

Draco nodded, balling his hands into fists. He felt extremely uncomfortable with the knowledge that he'd have to keep another secret from Harry, but he also knew that his mother was right and that it was the best way to protect his friend. And what kind of Slytherin would he be if he could not even tell a couple of white lies to keep his loved ones safe?

Draco had to wonder, though, why in Merlin's name it was always _his_ family bringing about their doom, like a screwed up version of that ridiculous Muggle Christmas character Hermione had told him about. Why couldn't it, for once, be a distant Weasley relative to be led astray, or really, anyone who was not sharing a bloodline with him? But that would be too easy, Draco figured, and if his life was anything, it was always horribly difficult.

  


It was the first week of August when he next heard from Harry. Draco was confused as Hedwig suddenly appeared in his bedroom first thing Saturday morning, landing on his pillow and nudging him until he took the letter attached to her leg. The letter was short, informing him that Harry was currently at the Leaky Cauldron. His mother had barely been able to convince him to eat breakfast before he had jumped into the Floo to go meet him.

Harry was overjoyed to see him, and after a hearty reunion, they withdrew to Harry’s room upstairs at the Pub, Draco assuring his mother that he would meet her down at the Floo again at half-past six in the evening. 

“So, why are you here?” Draco asked, at last, in the privacy of Harry’s room. “Your letter mentioned something about trouble with the Muggles?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry nodded, looking sheepish. “I kind of blew up my aunt.”

“You what?” Draco asked, raising his eyebrows in alarm.

“I didn't mean to!” Harry stressed. “It was an accident!”

“How do you _accidentally_ blow up your aunt?” Draco demanded, shaking his head.

“Well, she was a jerk,” Harry shrugged, rather awkwardly. “She said all this stuff about my Mum and Dad and I got really angry, and before I knew it, she was soaring high over Privet Drive.”

Draco’s lips twitched at that, the image those words procured in his mind too amusing. 

“Well, I guess she deserved it?” he muttered, coughing. “Still, didn’t you get in trouble with the Ministry? I know accidental magic isn’t as harshly punished as deliberate casting, but still, you’ve already received a warning last summer because of Dobby, didn’t you?”

“Strangely enough, I was not punished at all,” Harry frowned. “Fudge seemed angrier about the fact that I’d run than about the magic itself.”

“You ran?” Draco asked sharply.

“Yes,” Harry blinked. “That’s how I got here.”

“I thought the Ministry got you out of there!” Draco returned. “Why the hell did you run?!”

Harry blushed at that, fiddling with the hem of his shirt - a new one that he had sent him, Draco noted. 

“I thought they’d put me into prison,” he admitted softly. “So I thought it would be better to hide.”

“And so you turned in at the number one Wizarding Inn on the British Isles?” he pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

“Well,” Harry frowned. “It was the only place I could think of. I thought I would have been expelled for sure, so I couldn’t go to Hogwarts. I thought if I turned up at your place, your father would hand me over straight away. And the Weasley’s aren’t in the country.”

Draco sighed, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. 

“I’m glad nothing happened,” he murmured. “That was dangerous, mind you. But you’ve never really had a healthy sense for danger, have you?”

Harry smiled at that. “Fudge seemed to think I’d run right into that prisoner who’s escaped recently. Sirius Black?”

Draco heart dropped at that name from Harry’s mouth.

“Did he?” Draco asked, his voice neutral. “Why would he think that?”

“I dunno,” Harry shrugged. “I guess the Ministry’s is in a frenzy looking for him.”

“Yeah,” Draco confirmed. “It’s all over the papers.”

“I wonder how he managed to escape,” Harry mused, his face thoughtful. “I heard that never happened before?”

“It didn’t,” Draco nodded. “It’s supposed to be impossible to slip by the Dementors - their senses are sharper than those of Wizards, you see…”

“Dementors?” Harry asked, puzzled.

“The guards of Azkaban,” Draco elaborated. “They’re creepy, mind you. I heard they suck the happiness out of everything in their proximity. Never came across one, thankfully, but I heard stories…” He shuddered, before shaking his head. “Let’s change the subject, alright? I’ve not seen you in so long, I don’t want to talk about escaped murderers and Dementors.”

Harry smiled and nodded.

“You want to go out to Diagon Alley?” he suggested. “I could do with an ice cream at Florean’s!”

Draco grinned and followed Harry out of the room.

  


Draco spent most of his time at Diagon Alley with Harry for the last three weeks of the holidays and was much happier for it. They longingly goggled the newly released Firebolt at Quality Quidditch, killed time going through all the junk at Gambol & Japes’, ate themselves through the sweets at Sugarplums and Florean Fortescue’s and shopped for their school supplies together. It was brilliant, being able to spend all this time with Harry without the interruption of boring classes or evil plots, or even the other Gryffindors. As much as he loved and appreciated Hermione and tried to make his peace with Weasley, it was nice to have Harry’s complete focus solely on him. 

They met both Hermione and Weasley the day before the start of their new school year. 

The Weasley’s had returned from their trip to Egypt a week prior, after having won a lottery price and spending it on visiting their eldest son abroad, and Weasley knew no other subject than everything he had seen on the trip. Draco soon abandoned the conversation he and Harry were having for a much more interesting one with Hermione over her trip to France.

They ended up going to the Magical Menagerie together, Weasley to get his ancient rat checked and Hermione to purchase an owl from the money her parents had given her for an early birthday present. Things did not go smoothly, though - there was a commotion with a cat chasing Weasley’s sickly rat out of the shop, and when Hermione decided to adopt exactly that creature in favour of an owl, a fight between the two pet owners ensued. It was at that point that Draco excused himself for the day - though not without running into the rest of the Weasley family and going through the bizarre experience of being treated like an old family friend by the twins as well as Mr Weasley and being fussed over by Mrs Weasley. 

They met up again at Platform Nine and Three Quarters the next morning. Draco’s father had, quite unsurprisingly, not bothered to accompany his wife in dropping off their son for the school year, and Draco’s mother, on her own, made a valid attempt at civil conversation with Mr and Mrs Weasley. All in all, Draco was in high spirits when they said their goodbyes and entered the train for their journey – but that was until Harry demanded to talk to them in private, and inadvertently dismissed a grumbling Ginny from their group so they could set out searching for an empty compartment. All they found, though, was one that was occupied solely by a sleeping man with clothes more shabby-looking than those Harry had inherited from his cousin.

„Who d'you reckon he is?“ Weasley asked as they sat down with him, observing the man carefully for any sign of consciousness.

„Professor R. J. Lupin,“ Hermione whispered, making Draco frown at her in confusion.

„How do you know that?“ Weasley demanded.

„It's on his case,“ Hermione replied, pointing at a make-shift name plate on the stored luggage.

„Wonder what he teaches?“ Weasley mused.

„Defence Against the Dark Arts, obviously,“ Draco shrugged. „There's no other available position, is there?“

„Nevermind that now,“ Harry muttered, turning all their attention back to him. „Ron, I overheard your parents arguing last night down at the Leaky Cauldron, and it seems like... well, it seems like Sirius Black, the escaped murderer, is actually after me!“ They just stared at Harry, thunderstruck – or at least, that's what Weasley and Hermione looked like. Draco, for his part, was simply horrified. „He seems to think that murdering me would bring Voldemort-“ all three flinched at the name, and Harry ignored them, pressing on, „-back to power, or something deranged like that. Ron's Mum didn't want me to be scared, but his Dad insisted that I needed to know so that we don't – well, that we don't do anything reckless. Or didn't go looking for Black, though I have no idea why he thinks we would do something so stupid...“

Draco took a shaky breath, filling his lungs with air again. So Harry did not know about Black's connection to his parents, after all. That was something, he assumed.

„Sirius Black escaped to come after _you?_ “ Hermione whispered, lowering her hands from her mouth, where she had raised them in shock at Harry's words. „Oh, Harry... You'll have to be really, really careful. Don't go looking for trouble, Harry...“

„I don't go looking for trouble,“ Harry protested, affronted. „Trouble usually finds _me.“_

„How thick would Harry have to be, to go looking for a nutter who wants to kill him?“ Weasley muttered, his voice unsteady – a proof that he, too, was unaware of Black's connection to Harry, despite the knowledge his parents obviously held. Though, Draco figured, if Weasley had known, he'd have told Harry immediately. He wouldn't have wasted a moment thinking about what that information might do to their friend.

„Mr Weasley just wanted to make sure you are prepared, I guess,“ Draco spoke up finally, catching Harry's eyes. „And I think he's right. We need to be extremely careful.“

„But they'll catch Black, won't they?“ Hermione said anxiously. „I mean, they've got all the Muggles looking out for him, too..:“

„What's that noise?“ Weasley interrupted their discussion, and a search for a high whistling sound ensued, which surfaced a Sneakoscope that Harry had apparently received from Weasley for his birthday and that was giving out a noisy alarm, spinning and glowing in Harry's palm. Draco immediately looked at the sleeping teacher, memories of Quirrel coming back to him as he scanned the curled up man closely. Weasley, meanwhile, explained that the product was a cheap one, so he shrugged the whole thing off and the Sneakoscope was stored back into Harry's trunk, wrapped into a pair of old socks.

„We could get it checked at Hogsmeade,“ Weasley suggested, and there was a subsequent discussion about the wizarding village across the lake from Hogwarts, which was fun until Harry disclosed that the Muggles hadn't signed his permission form and therefore he wouldn't be able to join them on the trips. Weasley protested on top of his lungs, making up plans on how to sneak Harry out of the school, which both Hermione and Draco immediately shot down.

„We just discussed the danger Harry is in, Weasley,“ Draco hissed. „are you really thick enough to expose him to an insane murderer unprotected just for a couple of sweets from Honeydukes?!“

Weasley's temper flared at that, and he glared at Draco as he spat: „Black wouldn't dare attack if _we're_ with him-“

„Ron, he murdered a whole bunch of people in a crowded street,“ Hermione snapped, just as fiercely as Draco. „Do you really think he's going to worry about attacking Harry just because _we're_ there?“

„Right!“ Draco agreed. „As much as I want Harry there with us, it would be stupid to risk anything by-“

That was how far he came, though, before Hermione, unnoticed by everyone else, released her cat from his basket. Crookshanks used his newly gained freedom to jump at Weasley's rat, pushing their wagon into chaos and both Hermione and Weasley into a new shouting match over their pets. Aquila and Hedwig, who had been sleeping in their respective cages, were hooting indignantly at the noise, which made Draco smile at Harry, who only returned the expression tentatively.

„Listen, Harry,“ he muttered, under the cover of their friends' argument. „I know you're upset about not being able to go, and I really wished you could, but I just want you to be safe.“

„I know,“ Harry sighed, but he was kept from saying any more when Professor Lupin stirred in his sleep, effectively shutting Hermione and Weasley up.

  


Their trip to the school proceeded rather normally after that – no more arguments about Black or Hogsmeade or pets were started, and they peaceful munched away on the pumpkin cake they had purchased off the trolley and chatted about his and that. Lupin continued sleeping peacefully, and he was even useful in his unresponsive state by keeping Nott, Crabbe and Goyle out of their compartment with his mere presence.

Everything stayed uneventful until, towards the end of their journey, the train suddenly slowed prematurely, and came to an abrupt halt, switching the lamps off with it and leaving them in total darkness. Hermione's fingers slung around Draco's elbow instinctively.

„What's going on?“ Weasley asked.

„Ouch! Ron, that was my foot!“

„D'you think we've broken down?“

„Dunno...“

Weasley then plastered himself against the window glass, looking outside and announcing, with slight hysteria in his voice, that something was moving outside. Without conscious thought, Draco was reaching out, feeling around for Harry in the darkness. He found his knee, and Harry covered Draco's hand with his in a reassuring gesture as they heard the compartment doors opening.

Longbottom came in, stumbling over Harry's legs and breaking their connection, followed by Ginny, and in the chaos of movement and people moving in the dark, Lupin woke.

„Quiet!“ he demanded in a hoarse voice, and in the next moment, he lighted a magical flame as a source of light. Draco inwardly reprimanded himself for not thinking of that before. „Stay where you are,“ he instructed, getting to his feet, but at that moment, the compartment door slipped open once more.

It revealed a slim cloaked figure, inhuman in its posture and eerie in a way that made the hair on Draco's neck stand on end. It reached a long-fingered hand out for them, its skin grey and slimy, and Draco shifted away from it instinctively, bumping into Hermione. The hand withdrew once more and the creature took a long, rattling breath, causing Draco to feel cold all over, as if all the warmth had been sucked from the room with that single breath. Hermione was still clinging to his arm, but Draco could not feel any warmth from her fingers, or her body pressed into his side. The cold seemed to be soaking _into_ him, filling his chest and spreading through his veins. Draco shuddered, and faint echoes filled his head – the rustling of pages, the scratching of a quill, and the overwhelming feeling of panic. Damp footsteps on a stone floor, and Harry screaming.

He immediately looked at the other boy, but Harry was in his seat, silent and pale. He didn't look well, Draco realised - his breathing was uneven and he looked somehow faint and sickly. Then, quite suddenly, his eyes slipped closed and he sunk down to the floor, like a marionette that had its strings cut. It was enough to shake Draco out of his stupor.

„Harry!“ he gasped, reaching out for him, in the same moment that Professor Lupin called „None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks! Go!“ When the creature still didn't move, he pointed his wand at it and roared: „ _Expecto Patronum!“_ A foggy wolf jumped from his wand, emanating light and warmth and chasing the creature out of the compartment. The door fell closed behind it with a rattling noise, which seemed unnaturally loud through the previous stillness.

„Harry!“ Draco breathed, tearing his arm out of Hermione's grip and slipping out of his seat towards his friend. Harry did not react as Draco grabbed his shoulders, shaking them. „Harry!“

„What happened to him?“ Weasley demanded, moving in from beside them.

„I dunno,“ Draco whispered. „He just fainted.“ He shook Harry once more, a little harder this time, and finally, the other boy stirred. „Harry!“ he called, and green eyes fluttered open behind those dingy glasses. „Harry, can you hear me?“

He met Draco's eyes at last, and recognition sharpened his face.

„W-what happened?“ he muttered, straightening himself, shrugging off Draco's hand in the process. „Where's that – that thing? Who screamed?“

„No one screamed,“ Weasley noted nervously.

Harry took in the compartment, all attention still on him, green eyes bright in fear and confusion.

„But I heard screaming,“ he insisted.

„I did, too,“ Draco confirmed, feeling the burning gazes on him now, though he didn't turn to meet them, his focus still on Harry. „But I think it was in my head.“

A loud snapping sound broke the silence and directed their attention to Lupin, who had produced a bar of chocolate and was breaking it into gracious pieces.

„Here,“ he said, handing the biggest to Harry and distributing the rest between the other occupants of the compartment. Draco frowned as he took his, staring at it uncomprehendingly. „Eat it. It'll help.“

„What was that thing?“ Harry asked Lupin, still sounding shaky.

„A Dementor,“ Lupin explained. „One of the Dementors of Azkaban.“ Understanding dawned on Draco, and he took his place between Hermione and Ginny again. „Eat,“ Lupin repeated. „It'll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me...“

He exited the compartment, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. No one touched the chocolate.

„You're sure you're okay, Harry?“ Hermione asked anxiously.

„I don't get it... What happened?“ Harry asked.

Weasley tried to give an unstructured and barely comprehensible retelling of the events, but Draco could not focus enough to listen, his mind completely on Harry. The other boy was soaked in sweat, something he had not noticed in his panic, and his hands seemed to still be trembling as he brushed his damp hair from his forehead. Draco felt unsteady himself, but none of them seemed to be as strongly affected by the Dementor's presence as Harry, and worry for his friend clung at Draco's chest like a Niffler to gold.

Harry seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because he asked, rather awkwardly: „But didn't any of you – you know...“

„No,“ Weasley said, observing Harry anxiously. „Ginny was shaking like mad, though...“

Harry's face, still devoid of colour, regained some flush at those words, though Draco knew they were a sign of shame rather than health.

Lupin returned at this point. He looked into the round with a small smile and noted: „I haven't poisoned that chocolate, you know...“

They all tentatively nibbled at their pieces then, so Draco, with one last look at Harry, took a bite, too. Warmth immediately spread through him, and he let out a soft sigh of relief.

„We'll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes,“ the teacher announced, before turning to Harry. „Are you alright, Harry?“

„Fine,“ Harry muttered, flinching in embarrassment.

They spent the rest of the train ride in near silence.

  


As soon as they arrived at the entrance hall of the castle, they were called upon by Professor McGonagall.

„Potter! Granger! Malfoy! I need to see the three of you in my office!“ They turned towards her in alarm, and Weasley looked between the three of them in confusion. „There's no need to look so worried,“ she said impatiently. „I just want a word in my office. Move along there, Weasley!“

Weasley seemed slightly offended at the exclusion but made his way to the Great Hall as instructed, while Harry, Hermione and Draco followed McGonagall all the way towards the Transfigurations corridor. They exchanged puzzled looks – Draco could not explain to himself what exactly this could be about, not to mention why _he_ had been called out alongside his Gryffindor friends by their Head of House. Sure, McGonagall was Deputy Headmistress and due to Draco's friendship with Harry, she had always taken a certain interest in him, but still, the teacher responsible for him remained Snape.

Some of that confusion cleared, though, when they reached McGonagall's office and found both Snape and Madam Pomfrey waiting for them.

„Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to say that you had taken ill on the train, Potter,“ McGonagall announced, and Madam Pomfrey approached him briskly. Harry flushed a dark red.

„I'm fine,“ he protested. „I don't need anything-“

„Setting Dementors around the school,“ the matron muttered, ignoring him and pushing his hair back to feel his forehead. „He won't be the first one who collapses. Yes, he's all clammy. Terrible things, they are, and the effect they have on people who are already delicate-“

„I'm not delicate!“ Harry argued.

„Of course you're not,“ she waved him off, taking his pulse.

After some discussion, Harry assuring them that he felt _just fine_ and that Professor Lupin had already given him some chocolate, they agreed that he was fit to join everyone for the feast.

„Very well,“ Professor McGonagall said. „Kindly wait outside while I have a quick word with Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy about their timetables, then we can go down to the feast together.“

Draco frowned, flashing a questioning look at Professor Snape as he left. His Head of House looked impassive. Finally, the door fell closed behind Harry, and McGonagall gestured to the empty chairs in front of her desk.

„Sit, please,“ she requested. „Professor Snape and I have been discussing your course choices over the summer. Both of you chose to take up more than three elective courses for this school year. I assume you have not changed your mind about your choice of subjects?“

Understanding dawned onto Draco. He had completely forgotten about that. He quickly nodded along with Hermione.

„Very well,“ she nodded. „We encourage anyone who wishes to study, of course, but there is the issue of conflicting timetables – the electives have been scheduled in overlapping time slots, you see, and it is strictly speaking not possible to attend all classes for any student.“

„So we will have to drop some?“ Hermione asked, looking crestfallen.

„No, you don't, Miss Granger,“ McGonagall conceded with a smile, not noting how Snape rolled his eyes behind her. „I have been in contact with the Ministry of Magic, and I have been able to procure a time turner for you.“

„A time turner?“Draco repeated, his eyes wide.

„Yes, Mr Malfoy,“ she confirmed, pulling open a desk drawer and picking up something from within. She held up a necklace with a miniature hour glass for them to see. „You will have to wear it around your necks when you use it. One turn will bring you back one hour. Like this, you will be able to attend various classes in the same time slot.“

„We have to insist, though, that you use it with care,“ Professor Snape said sharply, dark eyes zooming in one both of them. „Not only is this artefact incredibly valuable, but going back in time holds a certain danger. You must not come across yourself while in the past. The consequences of such an encounter could be severe.“

„You are also advised not to tell anyone about our agreement,“ McGonagall added. „I have vouched for you in front of the Ministry, ensuring them that you are both superb students and are to be trusted with such a responsibility, but this promise does not extend to any other students. We depend on your discretion. Understood?“

„Yes,“ Hermione and Draco replied in unison.

„Very good,“ she nodded, handing the time turner over to Hermione, who turned it in her hands, staring at it in awe. „It is needless to say that you are prohibited from using it for anything other than academic purposes. If you encounter any problems in the usage, please speak to either Professor Snape or me.“

„I also want to point out that if we hear about any misuse,“ Professor Snape warned, his voice slow and clear. „or if the device lands in any hands _apart from your own_ , we will retract that privilege, and there will be grave consequences for both of you.“

„Duly noted,“ Draco nodded, meeting Snape's eyes head on. The teacher nodded, with an air of finality.

„Good,“ McGonagall said, getting to her feet. „Please put it away safely, Miss Granger. We don't want to leave Mr Potter waiting any longer.“

  


They joined the feast shortly after the end of the sorting, Hermione and Harry taking their places next to Weasley at the Gryffindor table and Draco dropping into a seat near the lonely back of the Slytherin table. He could see Nott looking back to him, searching his gaze with an evil smirk, and Draco knew that whatever he had to say couldn’t be good, so he kept his gaze on the Headmaster as he gave his yearly welcoming speech. 

“As you will be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express,” Dumbledore said, his clear voice carrying through the hall. “our school is presently playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business.” He paused and Draco sneaked a look across the hall towards Harry, but the other’s eyes were fixed on the Headmaster. “They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave the school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises - or even Invisibility Cloaks.” Draco bit his lip, decidedly not glancing at Harry this time around. “It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the Prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no students run foul of the Dementors.”

Draco kept staring at the Headmaster, an uncomfortable feeling of dread settling in his stomach. He knew that technically, the presence of Dementors to keep his deranged cousin out of the school and away from Harry should calm him, but after their encounter with them earlier that night, it made him feel extremely wary. The feeling that had washed over him when the Dementor had entered their compartment was still fresh on his mind, but more importantly, he could not forget the effect those creatures had had on Harry. He did not want them anywhere near him. 

“As to our second new appointment,” Dumbledore said, making Draco blink as he resurfaced from inside his own head. “I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties.” 

Draco gasped at that, a grin forming on his lips as applause broke out from the Gryffindor table, extending to Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff and dying at Slytherin, but Draco did not care that he was the only one from his house to cheer; Hagrid looked overjoyed and embarrassed, and Draco felt a grim satisfaction that after all the trouble he had caused Hagrid last year, he had now received this job as a result of his name getting cleared. He deserved it, Draco decided, even if he felt a little weary about the creatures Hagrid would end up showing them.

Dinner appeared on the table then, and Draco, just noting how hungry he was, dug into the chicken with delight.


	2. Time-Turners and Boggarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! So happy to see you all back for Draco's third year and showing so much enthusiasm! I hope my writing can live up to your expectations, since so many of you seem to love PoA above all other books - a love that, to be quite honest, is not as strong for me ^^' I have found myself quite troubled with large passages of this instalment, and while I hope it does not reflect on this story, I apologize in case it does. 
> 
> For now, please enjoy the second chapter, for this was relatively stress-free and a joy to write :) I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

The new term started off in a turbulent way, and Draco was not sure he liked it very much. Draco had taken up Divination and Care of Magical Creatures mainly because Harry had chosen them, but he had not counted in that the number of people interested in these subjects may well be big enough for them to be divided into groups. He ended up with the Gryffindors for Hagrid’s class, but the number of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs taking up Divination was so big that they got a class on their own while Slytherin and Ravenclaws had to share. He ended up with the Hermione for Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, at least, since the number of students taking up these difficult subjects was small enough for everyone to share one course.

They had Arithmancy first period Thursday morning, which coincided with Gryffindor Divination and Muggle Studies, causing Hermione to use the time turner two times that very morning. She waved Draco goodbye after breakfast to follow Harry and Weasley up to the top North Tower, but waited for Draco at the Arithmancy classroom on the second floor of the West Wing anyways, slightly out of breath and looking utterly hassled.

“You won’t _believe_ what a waste of time Divination was,” she muttered, quiet enough so that no one but Draco could hear her. “The woman teaching it is _ridiculous_. She had us read each other’s tea leaves and made a huge production of predicting everyone’s misfortune, and Harry’s untimely death on top of it.”

“Harry’s death?” Draco gasped, his voice a little too loud.

“She’s a fraught, Draco. She predicted the death of one student each year. Professor McGonagall told us all about it.”

“You’ve already been to Transfiguration?” Draco asked in distraction, willing his hammering heart to calm down.

“Oh, yes, I couldn’t slip away from Harry and Ron between the two classes, there was no time, so I went back in time before lunch. At least like that, I’ll have an extra hour to sneak in for homework. After Muggle Studies, that is. Unless you need the time-turner then,” she added, looking at him enquiringly.

“No, no,” Draco waved off. “I won’t need it until after Care of Magical Creatures. My Divination class conflicts with that.”

“I see,” she nodded, relieved. “But you’ll come to Ancient Runes with me after, right?”

“Right,” Draco nodded. “Merlin, this year is going to be complicated.”

“But we’ll learn so much!” Hermione reminded him, her eyes glowing. “I can’t wait to start on Arithmancy! I read a little ahead throughout the summer holidays, and-”

Thankfully, at that moment, Professor Vector opened the classroom door and called their class inside, for as much as Draco enjoyed studying, once Hermione prattled on about academics, there was no stopping her.

 

After Transfigurations, Hermione pulled on the Time-Turner and spun an hour back, disappearing into thin air right in front of Draco’s eyes. It was slightly bemusing to see, even if you grew up in a Wizarding Family and were used to apparition: Apparition was sudden and complete, transporting a person from one place to another in the blink of an eye and with a loud snapping noise. Travelling back in time, on the other hand, was silent and made Hermione fade gradually, like sand running from a sand clock. He watched her till the shadow of her had faded completely, and then made his way out to the greenhouses for Herbology with the Ravenclaws.

After Herbology, he returned to the castle for lunch, and Hermione caught up with him to hand over the Time-Turner, in a rotten mood. When Draco asked, she only huffed out Weasley’s name but offered no further explanation. When they joined Harry and Weasley on their way back out to the grounds, this time to head towards Hagrid’s Hut for Care of Magical Creatures, Hermione and Weasley weren’t speaking to each other, and Harry seemed glad to have someone other than them to talk to, so the two of them chatted animatedly about Hagrid’s new position and what his classes would be like.

“Knowing Hagrid, it will probably be quite laid back,” Draco mused. “Well, unless of course we’re attacked by wild beasts of any kind.”

“Nah, he wouldn’t bring anything too dangerous,” Harry shrugged, though he did not seem convinced. “I’m sure it’ll be loads of fun.”

Hagrid was already waiting for them as they reached his hut, Fang pacing at his feet, and he looked impatient and exhilarated.

“C’mon, now, get a move on!” he called at the students lingering behind them. “Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin’ up!” Draco exchanged a look with Harry, but they said nothing.

It turned out the treat Hagrid had organized for them were Hippogriffs, which was actually quite interesting, Draco had to admit once he got past his overwhelming fear of getting his face scratched out, and over the heart attack as Harry was chosen as the first student to approach one of them. But Harry being Harry, he nailed the task without an incident, and after, they were all encouraged to approach the creatures politely and carefully as Hagrid taught them everything they’d need to know. It was not a bad lesson, especially when Nott got points taken for poking fun at their teacher, and Draco felt fiercely proud of Hagrid.

After class ended, Harry and Weasley lingered to speak to their overgrown friend, but Draco and Hermione excused themselves to get to Ancient Runes. Draco waited till they were out of sight from Hagrid’s hut until his fingers closed around the Time-Turner in the pocket of his robes.

“I’ll meet you in front of the classroom,” he muttered to Hermione, and she nodded, her eyes lingering on Draco for a moment.

“Take care,” she whispered. “And make sure no one sees you!”

“I will,” Draco promised, and he parted from her with quick steps, looking out for a place where he could hide. He ended up ducking behind a couple of trees and pulled out the delicate artefact carefully. He studied it for a few seconds, watching the golden sand move within the hourglass, and then he pulled the necklace around his neck and turned it twice.

It felt like he was on a broom that was out of control, speeding backwards without his input, and all Draco could do was cling on as his surroundings spun by, shapes appearing and disappearing before Draco could identify them. Then, everything came to a hold.

Draco took a deep breath and checked his wristwatch. It was exactly ten minutes past one, which meant he had twenty more minutes to get up to the North Tower for Divination.

He carefully stored the Time-Turner back in his pocket before ducking out from his hiding point behind the trees and hurrying up to the castle.

 

When he caught up with Hermione after what had probably been the most useless lesson of his life, including History of Magic with Binns and Defence Against the Dark Arts with _Lockhart_ , he felt more than a little hassled and in a terrible mood.

“Remind me again of why I was so _stupid_ to take up Divination?” Draco hissed as Professor Babbling let them into the classroom. “Not only is the subject complete gibberish but the teacher is the most ridiculous old bat I have ever seen!”

“I feel you,” Hermione sighed, taking a seat towards the front as Draco claimed the one at her side. “Whyever Dumbledore thought it would be a good idea to employ her I don’t understand. This isn’t Defence Against the Dark Arts, where the teaching post is supposedly cursed. There must be more qualified teachers out there.”

“I don’t know,” Draco rolled his eyes. “It seems to me like everyone who takes up Divination for a living must be batshit crazy.”

Hermione was kept from answering when Professor Babbling started talking, and Draco tried hard to focus on what she was saying, but his mind kept shutting down, which was unusual for him. Draco had never had much trouble concentrating in classes (unless one counted the previous year when he had been regularly possessed by the Dark Lord’s sixteen-year-old self), but the time travel had left his mind slightly fuzzy, making it hard to follow the lecture on basic rune reading.

The effect of the two extra hours he had added to his day through the time travel showed once more towards the evening. As usual, he withdrew himself to his dormitory after dinner for homework, but he was barely through his essay for Arithmancy when his eyes began to droop, exhaustion catching up with him so overwhelmingly that not even tea could wake him enough to focus. He ended up going to bed far earlier than usual, wondering idly if a chance to take up a shit subject like Divination was actually worth the hassle.

 

They fell into the stressy routine of exchanging the Time-Turner and adding two extra hours to the day (or in Hermione’s case, three to four hours, depending on where and when she decided to travel back) twice a week, and Draco could not say he enjoyed it. Every such day felt incredibly exhausting, and for the first time in his life, his homework was actually piling up. That, in addition to the Quidditch practice he had to attend twice a week, really managed to wring Draco out more than any exam revision period he’d ever had to go through. Not to mention that he really, _really,_ with _a full passion_ hated Divination. It was not only boring and dragged on and on in that hideous classroom full of doubtful fumes, but the quality of the course material and the teaching body were little more than a bad joke.

When he mentioned quitting the whole business and going back to a normal time schedule, though, he was so viciously snapped at by a completely wrung out Hermione that he decided to keep to it, for now, in favour of avoiding confrontation.

Other than that, the only exciting events of the first two months were Hermione and Weasley continuously nasty fights over their pets and Professor Lupin’s classes. The Gryffindors were the first third-years to have Defence Against the Dark Arts the Monday after their return to school and came out of the lesson in absolute awe, all going on and on about the Boggart they had faced under Lupin’s instructions.

“You should have seen Snape in the clothes of Neville’s grandmother!” Weasley howled as they had sprawled out on the grass near the lake, enjoying the last feelers of summer while doing their homework. “It was hilarious, Malfoy! And when I vanished the legs of my spider-”

Draco tuned Weasley out as he prattled on, not needing any input in his monologue, and instead watched Harry out the corner of his eyes, who was awfully quiet and seemed rather upset.

“Lupin did not let me try the Boggart,” Harry confided in him the next day when the two of them had a moment for themselves. “He stepped in before I could face it. Do you think he -” Harry cut himself off, hesitating, but the message was clear to Draco even without him voicing it.

“He would be stupid to think you weak,” Draco replied, a vehemence in his tone that made Harry meet his eyes. “And Lupin does not strike me as stupid. He must have had a reason for intervening.”

“Which would be?” Harry challenged, doubt in his voice.

“Maybe he was wary of what form your Boggart would have taken,” Draco said reasonably, and Harry frowned. “You’ve fought much scarier stuff than his average thirteen-year-old student, you have to admit.” When Harry remained in thoughtful silence, Draco added: “What _would_ your Boggart have been, anyway?”

Harry flushed and cleared his throat. “A Dementor,” he admitted, very quietly. Draco nodded in understanding.

“Cannot blame you for that,” he said, shuddering at the memory of their train ride, and Harry seemed to feel a little better at that. “Nasty things, they are.”

“What would yours have been?” Harry asked curiously.

“I don’t know,” Draco mused, frowning. “I’m scared of a lot of things. Werewolves, for one. Basically anything that’s in one way or another powerful enough to do me in. I’m not a brave Gryffindor, remember?”

“You’re not that bad,” Harry smiled, but he let the subject drop.

Draco, though, found himself faced with the question again when Lupin, about two weeks later, led them into a disused potions classroom in the dungeons, where another Boggart had taken residence in a storage cupboard.

“The Ravenclaw students have given me quite an earful about letting the Gryffindors experience Boggarts first-hand, but not the rest of the houses,” Lupin told them sheepishly as they all filed into the room. “So I sent a rather unwilling Mr Filch on Boggart hunt. I think he’ll never forgive me for the extra work I gave him, but he knows the castle better than anyone, and thankfully, he found a couple more lurking in dark places. So this is your turn on facing your very own Boggart.”

He proceeded in asking questions about the features of a Boggart (most of them answered by Draco, after having talked them so thoroughly with his friends) and explaining the spell to fight them before he instructed them all to imagine whatever scared them the most and thinking of a way to ridicule it.

Draco frowned, thinking hard. What exactly _did_ scare him the most? He had not been lying when he’d told Harry that it could be a lot of things, and it was hard to pick which exactly he was most afraid of. He tried to remember at which point of his life he had been most terrified, and came up with last school year, when he had been in possession of the Dark Lord’s diary.

The diary, then? Maybe he could turn it into a picture book or something, he mused. Not that anyone but him would understand what the diary was. He could already see his classmates laughing at the picture of the Boggart turning into a seemingly harmless notebook when facing him.

“Alright,” Lupin announced. “Are you ready? Daphne, let’s go with you first. Step forward, please.”

Daphne Greengrass was frowning as she eyed the cupboard wearily, but she seemed prepared and determined.

“Good. On the count of three, then,” Lupin called. “One - two - three - _now_!” With a flick of his wand, the cupboard door slammed open. Draco held his breath, and so seemed everyone else in the room.

For a moment, nothing happened, and then, the shape of a dragon made entirely of fire soared out of the cupboard, right at Daphne. Fiendfyre, Draco’s mind supplied. Daphne took a step backwards, her eyes wide, but then, she visibly shook herself and directed her wand at the eternal fire approaching her.

“Riddikulus!” she called, and immediately, with a loud crack, the fire exploded into beautiful fireworks. Daphne smirked, satisfied.

“Well done!” Lupin called. “Blaise, you are next!”

Blaise’s Boggart turned into a vampire, and he charmed his teeth into jellies. Pansy, who was next, got a Chimaera, which she charmed into a baby lion. Millicent turned her Yeti into a big fluffy Teddy Bear that sang a children song to them.

“Marvelous!” Lupin called, laughing. “Draco, it’s your turn.”

Draco took a deep breath and stepped forward. The Boggart turned immediately, apparently thankful for a new victim, but, much to Draco’s horror, it did not take the form of the diary he had anticipated.

Instead, he found Harry standing before him, deathly pale and with empty eyes. Draco stared, flabbergasted, as blood dripped from Harry’s lips, and then, he collapsed into a broken heap on the floor, unmoving.

Everything in Draco’s head turned into white panic as he stared at the dead body of his best friend on the floor. But - this could not be. Harry had not even been here! He could not be dead! How could he have-

It was then that Professor Lupin stepped in front of Draco, blocking his path.

“It’s not real, Draco,” he said softly, facing Harry’s broken body as it turned into a foggy image of what seemed to be the moon.

“Riddikulus!” Lupin called, and the moon deflated like a balloon that had just been poked by a needle. “Theodore, you are next!” he called, loudly enough to stop Nott from laughing. Draco realised only a moment later that he had been laughing at him

“It’s not real, Draco,” Lupin said again, turning to face him with kind eyes while Nott’s Boggart took the shape of a werewolf. “Do you want a moment to collect yourself, or do you want to try again.”

Draco watched as Nott’s werewolf turned into a dog chasing its own tail, and steeled himself.

“I’ll go again,” he announced with a nod.

“Good,” Lupin smiled and stepped out of Draco’s path. The dog held in at the sight of Draco, and then, it turned back into Harry’s crumpled body. This time, Draco did not give himself a moment to panic. He pointed his wand at the fake corpse and called: “Riddikulus!”

There was a loud cracking sound, and Harry’s robes fell away as dozens of coloured rubber balls bounced away from where the doppelgänger of his best friend had lain, making high-pitched, squeaking sounds with each contact to the floor.

“Brilliant!” Lupin called, delighted. “Tracey! Finish it off!”

As Tracey turned her vicious-looking merman into a goldfish jumping on the ground, Nott turned to Draco with a huge grin.

“Are you that scared for your boyfriend, Malfoy?” he snickered nastily. “How touching.”

Draco flushed angrily, but was kept from answering as Lupin called: “Great work, all of you! I’m closing class early for the day, so let’s get back to the classroom to grab your things, and then you can have an early lunch.”

Draco kept to the back of the group as they made their way back to Lupin’s classroom, and when the students had collected their things and were leaving for the Great Hall, the teacher called: “Draco! A word, please.”

Draco sighed, turning to Lupin wearily. After what the man had just witnessed, this could not mean anything good.

“Yes,” Draco muttered, approaching the teacher hesitantly.

As blue eyes watched Draco intently, he noted that Lupin was still quite young, though the grey flecking his light brown hair and the shabbiness of his clothing hid it very well. He was probably younger than his parents, even.

“Would you fancy a cup of tea before lunch?” Lupin asked suddenly, a kind smile spreading across his face.

“Tea?” Draco repeated, perplexed.

“Yes,” the Professor nodded. “I find it’s much more pleasant to chat over some kind of beverage. What do you say?”

Draco blinked, and finally, he nodded.

 

“Being afraid of losing a loved person is not something to be ashamed of, you know,” Lupin told him gently as he handed Draco a hot cup of tea a few minutes later in the privacy of his office. “If anything, it shows you worry more about others than about yourself. A treat not common for Slytherins, I’d expect, so I doubt your housemates could relate to it quite as much as I can. But I think you should not take Theodore Nott’s words to heart.”

“I’m not,” Draco ensured him, warming his hands on the cup before taking a sip of tea. “I’m used to his comments. He’s not getting to me anymore.”

“That’s good,” Lupin nodded. “Well, not _good_ , actually, seeing as you seem to have quite some experience with unfriendly behaviour. But I’m glad to hear you’re not agonizing over his earlier taunts, at least.” He was quiet for a moment, drinking from his own cup, before noting: “Harry is very lucky to have a friend like you.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Draco sighed, making a face. “I’ve been a burden more often than not, I think.”

“I'm sure you’re being too hard on yourself,” Lupin mused. “Harry’s life being what it is, he will be faced with a lot more trouble in his future. He will need friends to look out for him and worry about him like you do.” After a little pause, he added, with a voice very gentle: “His parents would be very happy to know he has you around.”

Draco frowned, staring at Lupin curiously.

“Did you know Harry’s parents?” he asked.

“I did,” Lupin nodded, a sad smile on his face. “I used to be James’ friend, when we were your age. So I assume I do have a special interest in seeing Harry happy and well-cared for.”

“I see,” Draco nodded, smiling a little. “You should tell Harry that. I’m sure he’d love to talk to you about his father.”

“You think?” Lupin asked.

“Yes,” Draco insisted. “He has no memories of him, and the things people have told him have been few and anecdotal. I think he’d really enjoy learning about him from a friend’s perspective.”

“Alright, then,” Lupin smiled, raising his cup as if to salute him. “When I find a good moment, I’ll invite him to tea, too!”

Draco laughed, feeling a wave of affection for their new teacher and thinking that, for once, Dumbledore had made a brilliant decision considering his teaching staff.

 

Lupin’s encouragement, sadly, did not make Nott mocking Draco’s deepest fear publicly any easier to endure. Draco could deal with the taunts all across the Slytherin common room and their dormitory. He could even deal with it during lunchtime at the Slytherin table. But when Nott managed to drag the whole thing out in front of Harry of all people at Potions, Draco just wanted to borrow his friend’s invisibility cloak and flee the country.

“So, tell me, Potter,” Nott grinned as Harry and Draco took their usual places next to each other in Snape’s classroom. “How does it feel, being Draco Malfoy’s Boggart?”

Harry whirled around to stare at Nott in a mix of confusion and disgust, ready to defend Draco on principle, and Draco flushed almost as scarlet as Harry’s Gryffindor tie.

“Shut it, Nott!” Draco groaned out through clenched teeth.

“Oh, did you not hear?” Nott laughed, obviously savouring the moment, knowing that he could get one over Draco. “It’s such a touching story, really. I cannot comprehend why dear Draco would not tell his boyfriend that what scares him most in the world is to see him die. You make such a great couple. I’m sure Lucius Malfoy is beyond himself with pride.”

“Shut it!” Draco repeated, slightly desperate, but it was too late - comprehension had settled in Harry’s green eyes, along with a slight flush in his cheeks, but mostly, he was glowering at Nott in pure rage.

Before he could throw anything back at Nott, though, Snape had turned up next to them, his voice icy as he demanded: “What is going on here?”

Draco closed his eyes and cursed silently but steadily in his head. Of all moments for Snape to pick joining Nott in tormenting him, of course, he had to choose this one.

Snape was not addressing them, though. He was glaring down at Nott, an eyebrow raised in expectation, and Nott blinked in surprise, not having expected reprimand by Snape of all people.

“We were just talking about our Defence Against the Dark Arts class yesterday,” Nott replied innocently.

“Yes, I heard you,” Snape answered, lip curling, his tone icy. “You think it’s funny, do you? Being scared of losing a beloved person. Is it a sign of weakness to you?”

Silence fell upon the classroom immediately. Everyone was staring at the group of them, breaths held while Nott paled more by the second. Draco was frozen, observing the scene in shock.

“That’s not-” Nott muttered, abashed. “I meant-”

“You’ve obviously never had to lose anyone in your life, or you would not joke about tasteless matters like that,” Snape snapped. “20 points from Slytherin and you will come see me this evening for a detention, Mr Nott.”

Nott looked like he had been slapped. Never, in his entire time at Hogwarts, had he been punished by Snape.

Their Head of House let his dark eyes fall upon Draco for a moment, his expression serene. Then, his eyes flickered to Harry for a split second, before he turned, returning to his desk.

“Today we will talk about how to brew an antidote to poisons,” he announced, opening the class and leaving a stunned Draco in his seat.

 

“I did not dream this up, right?” Harry asked him quietly as they made their way to lunch after double Potions, falling into step behind Weasley and Hermione, who were, as usual, bickering about one thing or another. “Snape actually defended you.”

“He did,” Draco agreed, stunned. “That was unexpected, to say the very least.”

“Tell me about it,” Harry frowned. “I wonder why he did that. He’s always glad for an excuse to put the blame on me, or you by association.”

“Nott must have hit a nerve somehow,” Draco mused. “Maybe Snape’s lost someone at some point of his life.”

“It’s hard to imagine that Snape could have loved anyone enough to grieve them,” Harry muttered, raising his eyebrows. “But who knows, maybe he’s not always been such a jerk.”

“Maybe,” Draco shrugged, meeting Harry’s eyes for a moment, and immediately seeing the way those green eyes softened when he remembered the rest of the conversation.

“So,” he said finally, clearing his throat. “Your Boggart wasn’t a werewolf, after all.”

“No,” Draco said, flushing all over again and redirecting his eyes onto the patch of Weasley’s bag that showed traces of having been sewn shut sometime in the past, eager to avoid Harry’s gaze. “It wasn’t.”

Harry hummed, and then said, very quietly: “I know I’ve given you… a lot of reasons to worry about me. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Draco sighed, feeling almost sick with embarrassment. “Can we just drop it?”

“Fine,” Harry murmured. “Just… It’s okay, you know. You shouldn’t feel ashamed of feeling like this. I remember when I thought you might be dead last year, and…” Harry gulped. “I’ve never been so desperate in my life,” he finished. “So really. I understand.”

Draco nodded, feeling a little better at Harry’s words. He looked back up to meet his eyes, and they exchanged a sad smile before parting ways for their separate tables.

 


	3. Another Troublesome Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am, back with the new chapter! I don't have much to say, apart from thanking you again and again for your continued support of me and this story and all your super sweet comments! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as you did the others.

As Halloween drew closer, and with it their first trip to Hogsmeade, the third-year students grew exceedingly more excited, with the sole exception of Harry. Their friend, having been denied the permit to go due to the lack of signature from his Muggle relatives by every authority he had dared asking, was dejected and bitter about being left out of the fun, and Draco could not blame him: He had spent enough time separated from his friends by their respective houses that he knew  _ exactly _ how painful it was to be left out like this.

Draco himself wasn’t all that thrilled about the perspective of spending the afternoon without Harry. Hermione and Weasley had been more than a little rocky since the start of term, and he could imagine better things to do with his time than tag along behind the two of them fighting non-stop. In fact, he was almost tempted to stay behind with Harry, but knew that the other boy would not take well to such a suggestion, so he did not voice it.

Instead, he spent the afternoon out in the wizarding village collecting souvenirs for Harry, namely a haul of sweets from Honeydukes and a few nicknacks from Zonko’s joke shop, hoping they would cheer their friend up. Both Hermione and Weasley helped, if they could surface from their bickering conversations long enough to pay attention to what Draco was doing. 

When they finally returned to the school, Draco pressed the whole collection into Hermione’s arms to hand over to Harry before they parted ways for their separate common rooms. He ran into Harry a couple of hours later on the way to the Halloween feast. 

“Thank you for all the stuff,” he muttered, smiling softly at Draco. “I heard you had a fun time? Ron hasn’t shut up about it since they returned.”

“It was alright,” Draco frowned. “Would have been much better if you’d been there. I don’t know how you can stand being alone with those two all the time,” he added, lowering his voice so that the other two Gryffindors walking ahead of them would not hear. “Do they  _ ever  _ speak normally to each other? Not that I can blame Hermione, but…”

Harry snorted. “Come on,” he said, shaking his head in amusement. “They aren’t  _ that _ bad.”

“I beg to differ,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Maybe I  _ am  _ lucky to not be sharing a common room with them.”

“Better than Nott,” Harry returned, grinning.

“Ugh,” Draco groaned, making a face. “Point taken.”

They entered the festively decorated Great Hall then and had to separate, each heading for their respective tables. 

With how Halloween both in the first year, with the troll Quirrell had let into the castle, and the second year, with the basilisk attack on Mrs Norris, had been stricken by catastrophe and disaster, Draco found it hard to fully relax throughout the meal. Not only were Nott, Crabbe and Goyle sitting in his vicinity at the Slytherin table and making fun of Draco on top of their lungs while eating dinner, but some part of him felt restless, as if it expected the doors to burst open any moment to reveal a bringer of bad news. While the feast itself stayed quiet, though, it turned out that Draco’s fears were indeed justified: They had barely reached the Slytherin common room when Snape was already calling them to the door, posture tense and dark eyes alert. 

“Everyone, follow me back to the Great Hall immediately,” he ordered in a sharp voice. “Line up neatly and don’t dangle, or I will personally make sure that you’re accompanied to the Hogwarts Express heading back to London by our charming Dementor guard. Have I made myself  _ clear _ ?”

There was an affirming murmur among the students, and one of the Sixth Year Prefects asked, quite bravely, Draco felt: “What happened, Sir?”

“Sirius Black has been sighted within the castle,” Snape answered shortly. “He tried to force his way into the Gryffindor common room. All the students will spend the night at the Great Hall while the staff searches the castle.”

Draco felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had been emptied right into his face. He stood, staring at Snape in silent horror until Pansy elbowed him into the ribs. 

“Move!” she hissed, manhandling him into the line in front of her as the group started to leave the Slytherin quarters. 

The Gryffindors were already gathered in the Great Hall when they arrived, and Draco immediately broke free from his housemates to search out his friends.

“Harry!” he called, grabbing his friend's wrist when he found him as if to physically ensure himself of his presence. “Are you alright? Did Black get anywhere near you? Did-”

“I’m fine, Draco!” Harry interrupted him, putting his free hand on Draco’s shoulder in a soothing gesture. “It happened during the feast, so no one was around. The portrait of the Fat Lady is in pieces, though.”

Draco took a deep breath, feeling the air settle in his lungs after what felt like hours without oxygen, and let go of Harry’s wrist. Red imprints remained where his fingers had been, so harshly had he held onto him in his fear, but Harry did not complain, just smiled at Draco in reassurance.

When the last house, the Ravenclaws, had joined them in the Great Hall, Dumbledore conjured them sleeping bags and left the Head Boy and Girl in charge of them before thoroughly locking the place down from the outside. Percy Weasley yelled for all of them to settle down, and Draco seized a sleeping bag between Harry and Hermione. The talking died down only reluctantly as the students were buzzing with questions: How had Black broken into the castle? Was he still hiding somewhere? As Hermione explained to Harry and Weasley in exasperation that Black could not have apparated into Hogwarts, seeing that the walls of the castle were protected against such intrusion (“Honestly, am I the  _ only _ person who’s ever bothered to read  _ Hogwarts, A History _ ?”), Percy shouted for everyone to stop talking. 

The lights were doused, leaving the Great Hall in only the eerie light that the ghosts cast into the hall, making Draco feel antsy. He reached out for Harry’s hand, and when he found it, he entwined their fingers. Harry squeezed once in comfort, and Draco felt better immediately. 

It was a restless night. Once every hour, a teacher would come in to check on them, and every time, Draco would jerk awake in alarm. On each such awakening, he would feel Harry, who did not seem to get any sleep at all, squeeze his hand, reminding him of his presence.

Around three in the morning, Dumbledore came, and they overheard him talking to Percy, telling him that there was no sign of Black and he had most likely escaped. They were interrupted, though, by Snape, who came in to report that the last corners of the castle had been searched, without result. 

“Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?” Snape asked quietly, but they stood close enough so that their voices carried over to where the four of them were lying. 

“Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next,” Dumbledore sighed.

Draco noted that Harry was shifting slightly next to him, clearly listening.

“You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before - ah- the start of term?” Snape remarked. His tone was harsh, but he seemed hesitant to speak freely in front of an audience. 

“I do, Severus,” Dumbledore replied, and his voice carried a note of warning. 

“It seems - almost impossible - that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed-”

“I do not believe a single person this castle would have helped Black enter it,” Dumbledore cut him off, with an air of finality.

It was then that Draco understood that Snape was suspecting Professor Lupin. His mother had told him that Sirius Black and James Potter had been the best of friends throughout their school days, and if Lupin had been friends with Harry’s father, like he had revealed to Draco, he must have known Black, too. And Snape, who had apparently attended school with them, judging by the fact that he held a grudge against Harry’s father, must be holding his own, strongly negative feelings towards Lupin, and not only because the other man had snatched the Defence Against the Dark Arts post from him. 

Dumbledore then took off to report to the Dementors, and the group split. Draco looked over at Harry, seeing the light reflect in his eyes as Snape closed the door to the Great Hall behind himself. Harry turned onto his back, shooting a look at Weasley, who lifted his head, clearly awake, too. He mouthed something to Harry, making the other boy shrug. Draco looked over his shoulder towards Hermione, who was staring at him with wide, scared eyes. 

Draco shifted to lie onto his back as well and reached out his free hand in invitation. Hermione took it, clutching his fingers tightly. 

 

The shock of Black’s break into the school sat deep with its students for the following days, but especially with both Hermione and Draco. Weasley had quickly taken up his usual optimism as a coping strategy, and Harry had soon followed his lead, but Hermione and Draco were not as easily deterred. They were thankfully too busy with their studies to discuss the subject to death and drive each other insane, like Draco was well aware they would have otherwise, but when Harry told them in outrage that Professor McGonagall had suggested that he drop out of Quidditch practice in the evenings and had in the end ordered Madam Hooch to oversee their sessions, none of them joined into the scoffing remarks Harry traded with Weasley about their teacher’s paranoia. Instead, they traded careful looks and stayed silent. 

All in all, Draco could not have been less motivated for the first Quidditch match of the season. While Draco had retained his position on the team - whether due to Flint’s promise to his father, or to his actual talent, Draco would never know - the amount of coursework the term had brought along in combination with the prospect of playing against Harry, the memory of last year’s match still fresh in his mind, made him honestly ponder dropping out of the team.

“Are you mad?” Weasley of all people asked when he voiced his lack of motivation to the other three, staring at him as if he had grown a second head that had taken the appearance of Gilderoy Lockhart. “Do you know what I’d give for a position on my house team? And you want to just throw it away for  _ school work _ ?!”

“Lessons are more important than club activities, Ron,” Hermione reminded him briskly. “If Draco feels overstrained with both, I think it’s the right decision to drop out.”

“Well I think if he feels that exhausted, he should rather drop Divination,” Harry noted with a frown, worried green eyes catching Draco’s gaze. “I have no idea how the two of you manage that insane time schedule of yours, but it’s clearly doing you no good.” Hermione had already opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off, continuing: “You  _ love _ Quidditch, Draco. I know you’re not particularly fond of your teammates, but I know you enjoy flying just as much as I do. I think you’ll regret it if you throw that away now.”

Draco knew that Harry was right, of course, but he was far too weary to approach the subject of quitting Divination with Hermione, so in the end, he continued trying to handle everything at once and managing so-so. 

 

When Draco was shaken awake for breakfast on Saturday by Flint himself, Draco felt like hell warmed over. He had stayed up late the previous night, desperately trying to catch up on his homework, and as a consequence had not caught nearly enough sleep. The prospect of spending the afternoon up in the cold autumn air flying looked anything but inviting from his position under the warm covers, but faced with a snarling Flint, he had no choice but to get up and dress. 

The weather was rainy and the wind was howling, and everything felt ten times more uncomfortable to Draco’s tired body than it already was. Not to mention that holding himself up on a broom through this storm and, even worse, trying to spot the Snitch, was going to be bloody exhausting. Though at least, Draco thought as he mounted his room and caught a glimpse of Harry, who, like him, was already soaked to the bones despite the match having yet to start, he did not have to deal with the additional handicap of glasses. 

The match dragged on endlessly, and honestly, Draco had no idea what was happening around him. With their wet robes, all the players looked the same, and he had to spend all his energy on keeping himself upright on the broom and keep out of range from the occasional strike of lightning, which left almost none for him to properly search for the Snitch. It was pure luck that he ended up spotting the tiny little ball hovering near the wall of the Hufflepuff stands. He sped towards it, not knowing whether Harry was following or not, only one thought in his mind: To get to the Snitch and end this bloody nightmare so they could go inside and drink some hot tea. The noises of the roaring wind and the rolling thunder seemed to fall away from Draco, and the temperature seemed to be dropping even further as he tried to keep himself focused, gaining quick ground in his chase. Distractedly, Draco noted that his breath had started to fog, and his fingers were trembling from cold as he reached out his hand, almost there, almost…

His fingers closed around the struggling ball, but he could not feel euphoric or even relieved. Faint echoes began to fill his ears, and Draco could hear Harry’s panicked voice, calling his name. Draco whirled around, his heart hammering as he searched for Harry, for the source of those screams - but what he saw instead made his grip on his broom almost slip in shock. 

An army of Dementors was hovering near the ground, and someone was falling towards them, numb limbs flailing around uselessly, and Draco could just make out wild raven hair and soaked scarlet robes. 

Time seemed to stand still as he watched Harry fall, and this, Draco thought, this must be what dying felt like, because he was up in the air, watching his best friend descend to the ground, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

Another figure appeared on the ground, then, hurrying forward with surprising speed and pointing their wand at Harry. Dumbledore. Harry’s fall seemed to slow, and when he hit the ground, there was no sound of impact. 

Draco was speeding towards the ground, shaking from head to toe and barely clinging onto his broom, the Snitch slipping from his fingers and taking flight, his only thought being that he had to get to Harry, to see if he was alive, if he was… Out of the corner of his eyes, Draco saw Dumbledore sending what looked like foggy light towards the Dementors, which retreated hastily, but he could not focus enough to pay any attention. 

Draco, in his panic, miscalculated the distance to the ground and had to jump off his broom before he hit the ground right next to Harry. His ankle bent painfully as his feet hit the ground, and he lost his footing, but he did not care - his hand were already reaching for Harry, shaking him, calling his name.

“Don’t move him, Mr Malfoy!” Dumbledore called, appearing next to him. “He might have broken something.” 

“Is he-” Draco began, his sight blurred by what he realised just now must be tears, not rain, but Dumbledore put a gentle hand on his shoulder, while his wand hand lifted Harry carefully off the ground by magic. 

“He will be fine, I promise,” Dumbledore said solemnly. “I cushioned his fall, but he needs immediate medical attention. Rolanda!” he called as Madam Hooch landed on Harry’s other side, visibly shaken. “Please bring Mr Potter to the hospital wing. Excuse me, I need to have a word with the Dementors,” fury drenched his voice at those words, and when he approached the Dementors hovering at the edge of the field, boxed in by the movement of what looked like a glowing bird, the wind carried distorted, angry shouts to Draco’s ears. 

“Malfoy!” Flint’s voice broke him out of his daze, and his team captain was smirking down at him, Draco’s broom under one arm, his free hand reaching out to help him to his feet. “Nice catch,” he told him, as if he had no care in the world and as if he had not just watched another student almost fall to his death. “Thanks for proving my decision for keeping you on the team as correct. I’d have cast you out if you had lost to Potter again today, just so you know.”

Draco just stared at him, unable to return anything, unable to even breathe through his incredulity. Flint rolled his eyes and shoved Draco’s broom at him.

“Watch out for that, will you,” he growled. “You’ll need it for the next match!”

Draco’s fingers closed around his broomsticks almost automatically, without any conscious input from him, and Flint turned, walking away. Instead, the Weasley twins were suddenly at his side, pulling him to his feet.

“What an utter jerk,” Fred muttered, glaring after Flint. 

“Are you alright, Draco?” George asked, holding onto Draco a little tighter as the Slytherin’s ankle gave away under his weight. “Are you hurt?”

“My foot,” Draco grunted in pain. 

“Draco!” Hermione’s voice reached his ears, and he looked up to see Hermione and Weasley approaching them, both looking deadly pale. “Is Harry alright?”

“Dumbledore said he’d be okay,” Draco brought out.

“Madam Hooch said not to worry,” Fred injected. “But  _ bloody hell _ , that was some fall, wasn’t it?”

“I thought he was done for,” George muttered. “Thank god Dumbledore stepped in.”

“Yeah,” Weasley nodded, gulping. “We should probably go to the hospital wing and check on him.”

“We need to take Draco anyways,” George said, securing his grip on Draco’s frozen body. “Can you walk?”

The Weasley twins had to almost drag him all the way up back to the castle, and when they reached the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey looked like she was having a fit. 

“Another one?” she shrieked, pointing to the free bed next to where she was hovering over Harry’s still form. “I swear, these Dementors-”

“Is Harry alright?” Draco interrupted her urgently, gritting his teeth as the twins helped him onto the bed. 

“He was very lucky,” the nurse informed them with a huff. “He will have to spend the night here, but there will be no lasting damage. Now,” she muttered, turning to him and glowering. “What happened to  _ you _ ?”

 

Draco’s ligaments had been torn in his ill-advised landing, but Madam Pomfrey was able to fix that with the wave of her wand. He was advised to keep the foot still for an hour, his clothes were dried, he was wrapped in warm blankets and handed a hot cocoa to warm him up. 

“Might need a Pepper-Up before you leave,” she grumbled as she turned away. “Probably caught death out there during such a storm. Honestly.  _ Quidditch. _ ”

She kept grumbling as more and more members of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team filed into the room to check on Harry, but did not throw them out (yet), so they all settled in a huddle around Harry’s and Draco’s beds, talking in hushed whispers and shooting worried looks over to Harry’s unconscious form. When Draco’s hour was almost up, Professor Flitwick came in with a look as grave as Draco had barely ever seen it on the tiny Professor, holding a bundle with the broken remains of Harry’s broom in his arms. 

“That’s all we could save from the Whomping Willow,” he sighed, shooting a saddened look at the unaware Harry. “I fear there’s no hope of fixing it.”

Draco flinched at the words, and the Gryffindor players looked horrified as Flitwick gently placed the bundle near the foot of Harry’s bed and left them.

“What a cheerful day,” George quipped, sitting down next where Draco’s ankle was resting on the mattress. “Maybe Harry should just stay passed out. He won’t want that news, I’m sure.”

“Better his broom than him, though,” one of the Chasers, a dark, tall girl which Draco thought was called Johnson, muttered.

“Yes,” another Chaser, Spinnet, muttered. “Lucky the ground was so soft.”

“I thought he was dead for sure,” Weasley said, his voice hollow. 

“But he didn’t even break his glasses,” Hermione whispered, sounding amazed. 

“It’s all thanks to Dumbledore,” Draco murmured. “If he hadn’t slowed down his fall…” he broke off, unable to go on, the knowledge of how close he had come to losing his best friend still too fresh. 

“That was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” The third Chaser, Bell, noted in a rough voice. 

“Harry!” Fred called suddenly, and Draco’s face snapped over to Harry’s bed so fast he almost strained his neck. Harry’s eyes were open, and he was blinking at all of them in slight confusion, still drowsy. “How’re you feeling?”

Harry didn’t answer. He was frowning, as if trying to work out an especially difficult bit of homework, and then, something seemed to click together, making him sit up so suddenly that they all gasped in protest.

“What happened?” he asked. Fred continued to explain, but Harry seemed most disinterested in the details of his fall, instead prodding: “But the match? What happened? Are we having a replay?”

Everyone fell silent at those words. Draco looked down at his hands, torn between feeling guilty for not noticing the Dementors right away and proceeding to catch the Snitch, half angry at Harry for even worrying about something as ridiculous as a  _ Quidditch match _ when he had almost  _ died _ . He was competitive as well, but  _ honestly _ .

“We didn’t -  _ lose _ ?” Harry moaned, horrified. 

“I caught the Snitch,” Draco admitted awkwardly, not looking up. “I didn’t realise anything had happened until I turned and saw you fall. I’m sorry, Harry.” When Harry did not return anything, he forced his eyes over to Harry’s bed, wincing at how crestfallen his friend looked at the news. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“It’s not your fault,” Fred sighed. “You literally hauled yourself off your broom trying to get to him the moment you noticed. No one blames you.”

“Even Wood admits you won fair and square,” George added.

“Where’s Wood?” Harry asked suddenly, as if waking from a daze. 

“Still in the showers,” Fred said. “We think he’s trying to drown himself.”

Harry groaned at that and put his face in his knees. His teammates tried his best to cheer him up, telling him that they still had a shot at the cup and that it wasn’t his fault the Dementors turned up, but he seemed inconsolable. Draco almost felt like it was kind of Madam Pomfrey to throw the team out of the infirmary about ten minutes later. Harry looked like all their well-meant solidarity only made him feel worse.

“You’re fine, too,” she told Draco after checking on his ankle. “Finish your cocoa and then off with you.”

Draco had never wanted a cocoa less, but he picked the cup back up from where it rested on his nightstand anyways, glad for the excuse to not have to leave Harry’s side immediately. He swung his legs over the side of the bed to face his friend, who was listening to Hermione describing Dumbledore’s anger over the Dementors’ intrusion. Harry’s face was dull though, and he seemed to be barely listening. Only when Hermione fell silent, and he noticed all their anxious expressions, he asked: “Did someone get my Nimbus?”

Draco made a face, throwing a look at the sad bundle of broken pieces at the foot of Harry’s bed, aware of how horrible  _ that _ conversation was going to go. 

Maybe he should have just left to let the Gryffindors handle this, for once in his life. 


	4. Why Adults Should Really Pay Attention to Who Might Overhear Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! Thank you for all your lovely responses! Each of your comments made my day! Now let's move on to the next chapter and the drama it brings because Harry's (and Draco's) life is always full of drama and things will never be easy ;) 
> 
> On good news, I am finding some time again to write every once in a while, despite my schedule still being horribly full and hectic, and I managed to move on to the fourth instalment, at last. That means that hopefully, the regular updates for the next couple of months are secured. Please stay patient with me, though. My life is pretty unpredictable atm.
> 
> Now, please read on, and drop me a note after ;) As always, I'm excited to hear your thoughts!

To say Harry took the news of his ruined broom badly would have been a horrible understatement. He was downright depressed for weeks after the match, barely talking, which made Draco, as well as Hermione and Weasley, all decide to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays, for his sake. Not that Draco had any inclination to go back to the Manor, and frankly, he and Hermione had enough homework to spend at least half of Christmas in the library, anyways. 

The prospect of spending the holidays with his friends, however, was dulled by the news of another trip to Hogsmeade on the last weekend before Christmas. Draco offered to stay behind with Harry, insisting that being a witness to Hermione and Weasley’s eternal war was not  _ that _ much fun despite the visit to the village it involved, but Harry had only snapped at him for suggesting it, so he’d grudgingly dropped it. 

He made his way to the village sandwiched between one of their usual verbal exchanges about their pets, and when they reached the streets of Hogsmeade, he sent the two of them off to Honeydukes while opting to drop into Gladrags to look for a Christmas present for his mother. He lingered in the shop, enjoying its relative silence and the absence of ginger. 

When he met up with Hermione and Weasley again afterwards, though, they were not alone. 

“Harry?!” he gasped, gaping at his best friend standing between the two Gryffindors, grinning at him smugly. “How in Salazar’s name-”

“Wait till you hear,” Hermione muttered darkly, glaring at Harry as if he had fed her homework to the Hippogriffs. “Please talk some sense into him! Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

Harry rolled his eyes and shortly introduced Draco to the events of his day: how Fred and George Weasley had bestowed him with an artefact called  _ The Marauder’s Map _ , which they had apparently nicked from Filch, and how the map, camouflaged as an old parchment until called upon with the right words, showed not only every path and passageway in and out of Hogwarts but also where everyone happened to be within the periphery of the school grounds.

“Interesting,” Draco muttered, impressed. “This could be damn useful.”

“Tell him to hand it in!” Hermione hissed furiously.

“Why?” Draco asked, perplexed.

“Do none of you consider how helpful this map could be in protecting the school efficiently from Sirius Black?!” she snapped. “Or how much danger it would pose in his hands?!”

“As long as Harry has it, he won’t get his hands on it, will he?” Draco pointed out. “And, well…” he looked at Harry unsurely. “I guess we could tip the teachers off about secret passageways they don’t know about without handing over the map?”

“He’s not getting in through any of these passages,” Harry ensured him quickly. “Filch knows about most of them, and for the others, they are either unpassable or located in the midst of Hogsmeade, where Dementors keep watch.”

“Well, then,” Draco shrugged. “I don’t see any need to hand in the map.” Harry grinned, but Hermione’s gaze was accusatory, suggesting he had disappointed her gravely. Draco paid her no mind, though, because a different thought had just occurred to him. “You, on the other hand,” Draco muttered, turning back to Harry and glaring. “What do you think you’re doing out here, in plain sight? Why are you not at least wearing your cloak?” 

Harry’s face fell a little at that, and he looked sheepish.

“Forgot it,” he admitted. Draco’s eyes narrowed, and he continued quickly: “But we just agreed that Black can’t just walk around Hogsmeade, didn’t we?”

“Maybe,” Draco returned icily. “But there might be teachers out here, all of who  _ know _ you’re not allowed to be here. Are you  _ trying _ to get expelled?!”

“Um,” Harry said, eloquently as always, biting his lip. “Well. We just need to make sure I’m not caught, then.”

Draco snorted. Typical.

“Come on, Malfoy,” Weasley rolled his eyes and flung an arm around Harry’s shoulder. “Give him a break, mate. He’s had a rough term, let him have some fun for once.”

“Of course that’s all  _ you _ care about,” Draco hissed under his breath, but they were not listening any longer, as Weasley was already pointing out the different stores to Harry. Draco sighed and resigned himself to the risk they were going to take. 

 

Weasley gave Harry the tour around Hogsmeade before they decided to search for shelter in the heavenly warmth of the Three Broomstick. Harry, ill-advised fool that he was, had not only forgotten his invisibility cloak, but had not brought any cloak at all, and he was shaking from head to toe by the time they entered the pub. Hermione and Weasley ventured out to the bar to get them a round of butterbeers, and Harry and Draco found an empty table in the back, waiting for them. Draco, after having scanned everyone in the pub thoroughly, sat down facing the entrance way, ready to hush Harry towards the bathroom in case a teacher came into sight. 

His fears were not unfounded, it turned out: Hermione and Weasley had barely returned with their drinks when the door opened, and in came not only McGonagall, but also Flitwick, Hagrid and the bloody Minister of Magic. Draco was about to jump up to usher Harry away, but Hermione kicked him hard into the shin as the Gryffindors proceeded to push Harry under the table. Right, Draco thought, trying to breathe. That probably drew less attention than a panicked Slytherin pulling The Boy Who Lived across a crowded pub. 

Draco had rarely been as thankful for Hermione’s clear head as when she subtly moved the Christmas tree, which had been positioned beside their table, to cover them from view as the round of teachers and the Minister took the table next to them, chatting loudly enough for their voices to carry over to them.

What followed were the longest minutes of Draco’s life. The horror started when, immediately after receiving their drinks and asking the barkeeper, Madam Rosmerta, to join them, they started talking about Sirius Black. It should not have surprised Draco, really - what else would the Minister be in Hogsmeade for, anyway? - but the knowledge that Harry was sitting right there, underneath the table, able to hear every word, made Draco’s stomach drop all the way through the ground, and possibly back out at the other side of the globe.

“Do you know, I still have trouble believing it,” Madam Rosmerta muttered. “Of all the people to go over to the Dark side, Sirius Black was the last I’d have thought… I mean, I remember when he was a boy at Hogwarts.” Draco closed his eyes, praying silently for her to stop talking. “If you told me then what he was going to become, I’d have said you’d had too much mead.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Rosmerta,” Fudge sighed. “The worst he did isn’t even widely known.” 

Draco’s eyes flew open again, and he looked at Hermione, who seemed a strange cross between curious and aghast.

“The worst? Worse than murdering all those poor people, you mean?”

“I certainly do.”

“I can’t believe that. What could possibly be worse?”

“You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta,” Professor McGonagall said heavily. “Do you remember who his best friend was?”

_ No _ , Draco thought desperately.  _ Please… _

“Naturally,” Rosmerta said with a little laugh. “Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here - ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!”

Under the table, Harry dropped his empty glass of butterbeer onto the floor. Draco covered his eyes with his hands, cursing under his breath. When he looked up again, Hermione was watching him in alarm.

“Precisely,” McGonagall continued. “Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course - exceptionally bright, in fact - but I don’t think we’ve ever had such a pair of troublemakers -”

“I dunno,” Hagrid injected, amused. “Fred and George Weasley could give ‘em a run fer their money.”

“You’d have thought Black and Potter were brothers!” Flitwick agreed. “Inseparable!”

“Of course they were!” Fudge confirmed. “Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him.”

_ You don’t say,  _ Draco thought furiously. His eyes were prickling from frustration. All these months, he had kept silent, only for Harry to find out like this. 

“Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?” questioned Rosmerta.

“Worse even than that, m’dear…” Fudge muttered. Draco had the slight impression that, on some perverse level, he was enjoying the retelling of the story, in a way that he himself sometimes did when he knew he had more information than his friends and was able to impress. “Not many people are aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was, of course, working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. He advised them to go into hiding. Well, of course, You-Know-Who wasn’t an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them their best chance was the Fidelius Charm.”

They proceeded to discuss the nature of the charm, which Draco tuned out, having read about it before in his private studies. Instead, his mind reeled with the new information that had just been revealed. His mother had told him, of course, that it was probable that Black had had a hand in the death of Harry’s parents, but these words of Fudge’s were the puzzle piece her recount of the story had been missing. Draco balled his fingers into a fist, zoning back in again when Madam Rosmerta whispered: “So, Black was the Potters’ Secret-Keeper?”

“Naturally,” McGonagall said, rather bitterly. “James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself… and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potters’ Secret-Keeper himself.”

“He suspected Black?”

“He was sure that somebody close to the Potters had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements. Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who.”

“But James Potter insisted on using Black?”

“He did,” Fudge sighed, rather dramatically. “And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed -”

“Black betrayed them?”

Draco took a shaky breath, one of his hands running through his hair and clutching it in frustration. He could feel Hermione’s eyes boring into him, but he had no presence of mind to pay her any thought.

All he knew was that, after this revelation, keeping Harry calm and safe would be like trying to keep Crookshanks from chasing Scabbers.

 

“You knew,” Hermione stated quietly as they made their way back towards the school without Harry, who had wordlessly taken off for the secret passageway down in the cellar of Honeydukes, pale like Draco had never seen him before. “You knew Sirius Black betrayed Harry’s parents.”

“What?” Weasley asked, eyes zeroing in on Draco incredulously.

It took a few moments for Draco to find his voice, and when he did, it was shaking.

“Over the summer, Mother told me about the relationship Black had with Harry’s father,” he admitted. “The conclusion that he was somehow involved in their deaths seemed natural, even though she lacked the details Fudge so generously provided for us.” 

“You  _ knew _ , and you didn’t tell us?!” Ron called, his tone accusatory, as he had expected it to be. “Didn’t tell  _ Harry _ ?!”

“Before you start drawing parallels between me and my father, or possibly my  _ cousin _ this time,” Draco snapped. “I kept silent because I didn’t want Harry to know that the man who betrayed his parents was out there, escaping justice! In case you haven’t noticed, Harry is impulsive and emotional! The last thing I wanted was for him to go searching revenge - the same thing your own father worried about this summer, if I remember correctly!”

Weasley shut his mouth at those words, looking slightly abashed. 

There was a tense silence between them, before Hermione said, very softly: “I understand why you kept quiet, Draco. I might have done the same, had I been in your position.”

“Thank you,” Draco whispered, his throat tight at her admission. 

“I still think we shouldn’t tell Harry about this,” she continued. “Like you said, he’s very emotional, and I think he’ll see it as a betrayal.”

“So you won’t tell him?” he checked, looking from her to Weasley.

“Of course, I won’t,” Hermione said indignantly, but her eyes were burning holes into the side of Weasley’s head. The redhead looked torn, but he shrugged awkwardly, his face pained as he muttered: “It won’t do Harry any good to fight with you now. He’s worked up enough as it is. We’ll just keep it between us.” Draco let out a breath he did not know she was holding, feeling almost lightheaded with relief. “But I don’t approve of your secrecy, Malfoy,” Weasley grumbled. “It would do you good to trust us a little more, you know? Every time you keep things for yourself, it means trouble.” Draco opened his mouth to remind him that he hadn’t had much of a choice, but Weasley cut him off immediately, saying: “I  _ know _ you did it to protect Harry, and I’m not saying your judgement was entirely wrong. But I don’t think it was exactly  _ right _ , either. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Draco admitted, reluctantly. “And I’m  _ trying _ to be more honest. It’s not like I didn’t learn from last year. But I’ve been raised thinking that some things are better left untold. As much as I’ve changed, it’s hard to shake that off, sometimes.”

“Mum always says secrets have a way of getting out and haunting us,” Weasley shrugged. “And from what I can tell, she seems to be dead-on with that.”

Silently, Draco disagreed. After all, no one had ever found out about the letter Draco had received before he started school, the one he still kept locked away in the chest Hagrid had gifted him with in the first year, and everything it had set into motion. But maybe, he reflected, that was an exception to the rule.

 

Draco was unable to sleep that night, his thoughts on Harry and how he must be feeling, having heard everything he had. His mind was running wild with ways to help him, to somehow comfort him and keep him safe at the same time, but whatever he came up with did not seem like enough. He felt powerless, and he loathed it.

So when the day broke, Draco got up even before all the students that were to take off for the holidays and made his way through the castle. He did not stop until he found himself in front of Lupin’s office. He hesitated for a moment, then threw all thoughts of propriety to the wind and knocked. 

He half expected Lupin to still be asleep - the man had looked as sickly as ever lately, though Draco could not comprehend why - but the teacher opened the door at his first knock. Understandably, he was surprised to see Draco, but he waved him inside anyways, a friendly smile on his face.

“Draco,” he said softly. “To what do I owe the pleasure, so early in the morning?”

“I have something to ask of you,” Draco said, biting his lip. “This might be very untoward, seeing as you are a teacher, but you  _ did  _ say that you have a special interest in Harry, so I hope that you won’t take offence in what I am going to say now.”

Lupin raised an eyebrow at Draco’s words, seeming intrigued by them. 

“Why don’t you sit down?” he said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. “I’ll make us some tea.”

Draco did as he was told, nervously wringing his hands in the minute it took Lupin to warm up the kettle and prepare the cups. After he had handed Draco the steaming beverage, he sat down opposite of him, and asked: “What can I do for you?”

Draco’s fingers were shaking, so he clutched them around the cup, trying to force them still. 

“You said you'd been friends with James Potter at Hogwarts,” Draco began.

“I did,” Lupin agreed.

“That means you must have known Sirius Black, too,” Draco continued, watching as first understanding, and then apprehension settled on the Professor’s face.

“I did,” Lupin sighed heavily. “Or at least I thought I did.”

“The thing is,” Draco explained, placing his cup back on the table without taking a sip. “Harry knows Black betrayed his parents. He found out yesterday, and I’m scared of what it might do to him. What  _ he  _ might end up doing.”

Lupin was watching him closely, shadows flitting over eyes. He sighed, and there was a long silence as he drank before finally meeting Draco’s eyes again.

“If Harry is anything as impulsive as James, I understand why you’re worried,” he nodded. “But what exactly do you want me to do about it?”

“Talk to him,” Draco pleaded. “Maybe you can calm him down. You knew his parents, after all, and you can speak for them better than any of us can.”

“I can try,” Lupin mused, apparently troubled with the prospect. “But I don’t think that anything I have to say about the matter would truly make a difference. If you expect me to have any miraculous insights about the events, I must disappoint you.”

“It’s worth a try,” Draco insisted. “You’ve already promised to teach him how to produce a Patronus, haven’t you? You can take that opportunity to talk to him.”

“We won’t start that until next year,” Lupin reminded him.

“Me, Hermione and Weasley will try our best until then,” he promised. “But please, help us!”

“Alright,” Lupin nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Draco sank into his chair in relief at Lupin’s admission, and it made the teacher smile knowingly.

“You really are a good friend, Draco,” he noted. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Draco snorted at that. “I’ll try,” he muttered, thinking of Weasley’s words the day before with an uncomfortable squirm in his stomach. 

 

Harry, Hermione and Weasley did not appear at breakfast or lunch, and Draco felt out of his mind with worry. It was not until shortly before dinner that Hermione joined Draco in the library, face drawn out and sad, her eyes red and swollen.

“Draco, you have to talk to Harry,” she whispered, quietly enough that they would not be overheard in the almost empty room. “He’s… not doing well.”

“Colour me surprised,” he sighed, dropping the book he had tried to distract himself with.

“We just went down to Hagrid’s,” Hermione whispered, fresh tears in her eyes. “It was horrible. I never saw him shout like that, not to mention at Hagrid.”

Draco winced. “So he’s mad that Hagrid did not tell him?” he muttered uncomfortably.

“He’s furious,” Hermione replied, her voice choked. “Hagrid blames himself, of course. He was devastated.” 

“He doesn’t know  _ I _ knew, though, does he?” he checked. “Weasley kept his promise?”

“Of course he did,” Hermione said immediately. “The last thing we need now is for him to go off on you. And Ron was there at Hagrid’s hut just now. He understands very well what’s at stake.” Hermione gulped, before whispering: “He’s been saying horrible things, Draco. Like how Black deserves worse than Azkaban, and how, if he came across him, he wanted to make sure he got it.”

Draco flinched, running an absent-minded hand through his hair. 

“He’s thirteen,” Draco breathed out. “He might have been able to escape death twice in the last two years, but thinking he can hunt down and kill a lunatic dark wizard… That’s  _ insane _ .”

“I know,” Hermione whispered. A tear ran past her eyelashes, and she wiped it away impatiently. “Please talk to him. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

“You think?” Draco scoffed. “He ignored the two of you.”

“I can’t explain it well,” Hermione muttered. “But I think if he’ll listen to someone, it might be you. He’s different with you. More protective. More gentle, too, in a way, especially after what happened last year. He’s always forgiven you more easily than everyone else, including me and Ron.” When Draco didn’t answer, Hermione reached out to touch his hand, which was still lying next to his abandoned book, fingers clenched into a fist. “Please, Draco,” she whispered. “Please talk to him.”

“I will,” Draco promised, though rather reluctantly. “The alternative is staying silent and watch him do something stupid, and that’s no alternative at all.”

Hermione squeezed his hand and nodded. 

“Thank you,” she said, in a small voice.

“Don’t thank me until after,” Draco muttered. “Because I have a feeling this will end in disaster.”

 

It was freezing cold up at the owlery, the icy wind blowing in through the paneless windows. It was probably not the best place to meet Harry for their little chat, he reflected as he stroked Aquila’s feathers to calm his nerves, but it was deserted and private. If Harry was going to scream at him, he did not want the whole school to hear. The cold was a small price to pay for that.

Hedwig’s loud screech announced Harry’s arrival. Draco had sent her out to summon Harry only a few minutes prior, and thankfully, it had worked: Harry’s face was serene when he entered the owlery, Hedwig on his shoulder, but he was  _ there _ , wrapped into his warm cloak and Gryffindor scarf. 

“You wanted to talk to me?” he asked, his tone moody and almost a challenge in itself. There was no doubt he knew what Draco wanted to talk about, and no need to pretend otherwise. 

“You know I do,” he sighed, turning to him completely. “And I’d appreciate it if you could listen to me,  _ really _ listen, before you go off.”

Harry sighed, his jaw set as he muttered: “Can we just skip this? None of you can understand how I feel anyways. Your parents are alive.”

Draco took a deep breath, and Aquila gently nudged his hand, as if in encouragement.

“I realise that,” Draco admitted. “And I also know that, if it had been me, I’d probably yell at everyone who tried to tell me what to do or feel.”

“So why-” Harry began, but Draco cut him off, continuing, in a voice as calm as he could manage: “But I also know that, if our positions were reversed, you’d rather sit on me than allow me to expose myself to any kind of danger.” Green eyes met grey for a moment, but Harry remained silent. “He’s not worth risking your life for, Harry,” Draco stated, his voice stronger and less shaky than he felt. “And everyone who tells you to let it go, or who kept Black’s connection to your parents from you, did it to protect you.”

“I don’t want protection!” Harry snapped. “I want revenge! I want him to suffer for what he did!”

“It won’t bring your parents back, Harry,” Draco argued. 

“No!” Harry agreed, his gaze hard as he glared at Draco. “Nobody can. Black made sure of that.”

Draco winced and changed rails as quickly as the time-turner reversed the hour. 

“Your mother died to protect you,” he reminded him instead and watched Harry’s twitch as the words hit him. “The last thing she’d want is for you to get hurt avenging her death.”

“How am I supposed to know what she’d have wanted?” Harry demanded angrily. “I never had the chance to know her that well!”

“Even without ever meeting her,  _ I  _ know, Harry!” Draco called, his throat suddenly tight and his voice rough as emotion closed down on him, but he forced himself to bring the words past his lips. “I don’t have children, so I can’t fathom the whole extent of a mother’s love for her son, but surely you remember my Boggart, Harry?” Harry flinched as if the words had been a slap in his face, but Draco pressed on: “I’m not your mother, but I know what it’s like to care more about someone else’s life than your own! And I think so do you if you think past your anger. Remember the last term, when you heard that I’d been taken to the Chamber?”

“Stop,” Harry muttered, his voice strangled. “Don’t talk about that!”

“You told me you’d never been that scared in your whole life!” Draco called, ignoring Harry’s protests. “You came after me despite knowing how dangerous it was. You didn’t care, because you wanted to protect me so much. And  _ this _ is what your mother went through, Harry! I don’t need to have met her to know what she felt, and you don’t, either!”

Harry made a small, wounded sound, but did not respond. Carefully, Draco crossed the distance towards him, until he was close enough to touch Harry. The Gryffindor twitched when Draco’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, but he did not meet his eyes.

“Please,” Draco whispered, and his eyes were stinging with tears he tried desperately to hold in. “Please don’t risk your life by searching for him. Do you really not understand what it would do to me, or Hermione, Weasley, Hagrid, if he managed to hurt you, too?”

“Stop turning it around like that,” Harry hissed. “That’s not fair.”

“But it’s fair of you to expect that we just sit back and watch as we lose you?” Draco demanded, his voice wavering from the strength of his emotions. “Now who’s the cruel one, Harry?”

Finally, Harry raised his eyes back to Draco’s, and the remainder of his stubborn anger seemed to crumble at the contact.

“Stop,” he choked. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Draco asked, blinking against the tears on his eyes.

Harry made a frustrated sound, and then, Draco found himself enveloped in an awkward hug. Hedwig let out a soft hoot and flew off Harry’s shoulder to join Aquila across the room. Draco clung to him, trying hard to reign in his emotions. When he felt like he could breathe again, Harry muttered: “Fine. I won't go out of my way to search for him. But I can’t promise what I’ll do if he comes across me first. Can you accept that?”

Draco gulped and nodded.

“That sounds reasonable,” he agreed. “Or, as reasonable as it will get, considering you’re a Gryffindor.”

“Prat,” Harry snorted, but his voice was soft as he said it.

“Bull-head,” Draco shot back, smiling. “And now we’ll go down and you’ll apologise to Hagrid. The poor man just wanted what’s best for you, you know.”

“I know,” Harry sighed, looking tired as he released Draco. “I just  _ hate _ all this secrecy.”

Draco felt a stab of guilt at those words, but nudged his friend playfully into the side and muttered: “Like  _ you _ ’re permanently on Veritaserum. Shall I list all the lies you told since I’ve known you?”

“That’s different,” Harry spluttered, heat rushing to his face.

“You’re right,” Draco nodded. “Hagrid lied to you because he cares about you, not because he wanted to sneak out to Hogsmeade or something equally  _ Gryffindor _ . It’s a very gentle way of lying, don’t you think?”

“Sometimes, I hate you,” Harry groaned. “How do you always know what to say? You won’t even allow me to be properly angry, with all your rationality and  _ Draco-ness _ . Ponce.”

“There, another lie,” Draco teased, smirking. “And I’m not telling you not to be angry. I’m just asking you to direct it towards the right people, and to do it from the safety of the castle.”

Harry scowled at him, and Draco raised his eyebrows in challenge. With a roll of his eyes, Harry grabbed Draco’s wrist and tugged on it.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go down to Hagrid’s before it dawns.”

Draco smiled at his back, relieved, and followed Harry down the stairs of the owlery. 

 

That night, before he went to bed, Aquila appeared in Draco’s dormitory, a small note with a single sentence in Hermione’s tight handwriting tied to his foot.

_ Thank you _ , it said.

Draco smiled and gave Aquila an owl treat. The owl hooted happily at him in return. 


	5. As Pets, As Owners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, dear readers! I apologize ahead of reading for all the drama of the annoying kind in this chapter. It's not me, it's these horrible teenagers and it took me ages to finish this chapter because I was as fed up with them as Draco was. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it despite all the adolescent tantrums it contains - and if you could drop me a line to reward me for my perseverance in finishing this part of the story, I'd be very grateful ;)

Sadly, the peace Draco had drafted following the revelation of Black’s crimes was short-lived: Christmas brought a mysterious Firebolt into Harry’s possession, and while that would have filled Draco with awe and envy under normal circumstances, there was no information as to the origin of said broom. Draco could not blame Hermione for alerting McGonagall, who consequently confiscated it for examination  - she was quite justified in her fear that the present might really be a death trap of Black’s - but he could have warned her that patronising Harry that way, no matter how right she was in doing it, would be enough to make an already tense Harry explode. 

Draco was not present for the fight that ensued, the main events having taken place in the Gryffindor Tower, but  _ he _ was the one who had to tread the lines of the battlefield, consoling a Hermione who was permanently one step away from bursting into tears, and trying to talk down a Harry who refused to see reason. Weasley, quite unhelpfully, sided with Harry, proceeding to give Hermione the cold shoulder, and it did not endear the other boy to Draco at all.

As a result, Draco and Hermione spent a lot of time together in the library, far away from both Gryffindor boys and buried under their mountain of coursework.

“Do you think they’ll ever forgive me?” Hermione whispered one of these afternoons, looking up at Draco from her Arithmancy essay with watery eyes. 

“Of course they’ll forgive you,” Draco frowned. “Well, I can’t speak for Weasley because he’s as predictable as a Demiguise, but Harry’s gonna come around at some point. I think it’s just too much at the moment, especially after the whole thing with Black and his parents.”

“I should have let you handle it,” she whispered ruefully. “You would have gotten away with it.”

Draco snorted. “You overestimate me,” he told her. “He’d have been just as angry at me. Well, I might have approached the matter differently, but…” when Hermione looked wounded at his words, he added: “It doesn’t change that you did the right thing, in the end. There is a huge possibility that this broom is cursed. You know it, and I know it. Someone needed to make sure whether it’s safe, and we weren’t qualified.”

“Thank you,” Hermione muttered, letting her hair fall into her face to hide the tears that were probably falling. Draco looked back to his essay, kindly pretending that he had not noticed. “You always seem to be the only one who understands.”

“That’s because the only one who can rival my intellect is you,” Draco said off-handedly, relieved when he heard a hesitant chuckle. 

 

Draco hoped that with the start of lessons in the new year, the situation would relax a little. Harry finally began his Patronus sessions with Lupin, and while he did not tell Draco much about what happened in the hours he spent with the teacher, he seemed a little more at ease after each meeting. 

Hermione, on the other hand, got progressively worse. Their coursework increased ruthlessly with each day, and that combined with the strain of her fight with Harry and Weasley broke her like Draco had never experienced before. Draco tried to help, he really did, going as far as dragging her under the Time-Turner out of schedule to give them a couple of extra hours and subsequently allowing them to squeeze in a bit of sleep. But things were made more difficult by the fact that his energy was running dangerously low as well.

It was with that realisation, after one especially gruesome Divination lesson, that he joined Hermione in the library in grim determination.

“I quit,” he announced, watching as the Gryffindor girl blinked at him, dark shadows under her eyes.

“Quit what?” she asked, confused.

“Divination,” Draco clarified. “It’s a useless subject with an even more useless teacher, and I refuse to give myself such a headache over it. If I quit Divination, I can go back to a normal timetable, and I can finally leave this  _ madness _ behind me.”

“So you’re abandoning me?” Hermione demanded, her voice high-pitched.

“I’m not  _ abandoning _ you!” Draco scowled. “I’m setting an example that I’m begging you to follow! One of us has to be reasonable here, and it’s obviously not going to be you!”

“Don’t turn this on me!” Hermione snapped, eyes flashing angrily. “Just because you’re lacking the determination to go through with what you started does not mean  _ I _ am going to just throw away my education like that!”

Her words stung, but Draco forced himself to let them slip, knowing she was overworked and not to be held accountable for anything she said. 

“I’m not asking you to drop out of school,” Draco pointed out, as calmly as he could manage. “I am merely  _ suggesting _ that you reconsider trading in your health and sanity for subjects that are not going to help you in your future career!”

“You don’t know whether or not they’ll help me!” she shrieked, causing some other students to turn their head towards them, staring. 

“Oh, because you’re going to be sitting in Knockturn Alley for the rest of your life, reading palms for a couple of coins?” Draco hissed sarcastically. “Because that’s all you’re going to learn from that fraud Trelawney!”

“Stop it!” Hermione snapped, getting to her feet. “If you really want to, then you can drop as many subjects as you want! What do I care what you do?! But leave me out of it!”

“Miss Granger!” the librarian, Madam Pince, called from across the room. “Either you’re going to lower your tone, or you will leave!”

Hermione looked sufficiently abashed for a moment, sitting back down and hovering over whatever homework she was doing. It was Draco, instead, who got up to take his leave.

“Fine,” he muttered, just loud enough for Hermione to hear it. “Go ahead. Don’t listen to me. But don’t come crying about your workload again, because, quite frankly, I’m sick of hearing about it.”

His friend did not look up from her book when she left, but Draco thought he could see a tear fall onto one of the pages. 

 

For the week after that, Hermione avoided Draco. For the first day or two, Draco got a grim satisfaction out of that - at least  _ now _ , he could spend some time with Harry instead of babysitting that maniacal Know-It-All - but that nasty line of thought soon gave way to worry. 

“I don’t know what you’re feeling guilty about,” Weasley rolled his eyes when Draco voiced his thoughts to them, one afternoon on the way down to Hagrid’s class. “ _ She _ went off on you for turning your back on a class she hates as much as all of us! Have you not heard how she talks about Trelawney? One of these days, Parvati and Lavender will push her down the stairs to that horrible classroom, and I’m not going to stop them.”

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Draco grumbled. “And I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Weasley, thank you very much.”

“You were the one talking about it!” Weasley called, clearly stung. 

“Anyway,” Draco said pointedly, ignoring Weasley and turning to Harry, who seemed uncomfortable with the subject, which Draco hoped very much was a sign of either guilt or worry, or possibly both. “She’s working herself to death, and you know as well as I do that she just lashed out on me because you have been ignoring her for weeks now, as if she was some kind of Dragon-Pox-infested Flobberworm!” Harry remained silent, and Draco continued: “If you’d just reach out to her, it would be a big help, you know?”

“Why don’t you do it yourself then?” Weasley grumbled. “ _ You _ ’re the one who misses her, not us!”

“Because, as I told you at the beginning of this friendly discussion,  _ she’s avoiding me!”  _ Draco groaned, glaring at Weasley. “Plus, my head is not as far up my own arse as yours, Weasley! I can admit to feeling bad about fighting with a friend, while all you seem to be capable of is stubbornly clinging to that bit of pride you could scramble off the floor, you idiotic-”

“We’re there,” Harry announced, effectively interrupting their heated argument and forcing Draco to let the topic drop. 

 

When Draco was about to return to the Slytherin quarters that evening, though, Hermione was lingering in the entrance hall, her eyes red and puffy and an air of despair hovering over her like Peeves on a mission. He came to an abrupt halt, and Hermione looked up, startled by the noise.

There was a tense silence, and then she cleared her voice, whispering, almost too low for Draco to hear across the hall: “... Hi.”

“Hi,” Draco mirrored her, his voice gentle. He took a couple of careful steps towards her, trying not to startle her out of whatever frail determination she seemed to have gathered. 

Hermione sniffed, once, and Draco saw tears hanging on her lashes a moment before he found himself enveloped in a bone-crushing embrace. That girl might be a head shorter than him, but by Merlin, she had strength. 

“I’m so sorry, Draco,” she sobbed. “I know I had no place talking to you that way, and you have every right to be furious with me. I've been horrible to you. And I know I’m a mess and I can’t blame you for not wanting to be around me. I just-”

“Hermione,” Draco interrupted her, slightly breathless from the way she was clinging to him. “It’s okay.”

“It’s  _ not  _ okay!” she wailed. “You’ve been such a good friend to me, and I-”

“So you had a nervous breakdown and lashed out at me,” Draco shrugged, squeezing her shoulder in comfort. “Happens in the best of friendships. Salazar knows I’m no saint when it comes to sudden grumpy fits. I say you stop crying, and we forget the whole thing.”  
  
If anything, that made Hermione cry even harder, and with a sigh, Draco patted her head and let himself be hugged until the flood waned. 

 

Draco had clung to the hope that, as soon as McGonagall returned Harry’s Firebolt to him, with or without a result confirming Hermione’s suspicion, Harry would get over himself and forgive her meddling. And when that moment finally came, a couple of days before Gryffindor’s match against Ravenclaw, Draco seemed to be proven right, if only for an instant. 

That was, though, until Weasley discovered that Scabbers was missing, and hell broke loose all over again.

Draco felt personally insulted by the universe at this point. It had taken him weeks to push everyone to the point where they could be friends again, and then, just like that, it all slipped through his fingers again. Weasley was more furious than ever, and while Harry seemed to have forgiven Hermione, he still stuck to the stupid ginger’s side in a show of the same loyalty that had kept Weasley on Harry’s side throughout his own feud with Hermione. 

It was the understatement of the century, therefore, to say that Draco was frustrated. Frustrated enough to skip Gryffindor’s match, for the first time ever. Hermione had barricaded herself in the common room, and the prospect of being alone with  _ Weasley _ all afternoon was too much to bear, so he spent the afternoon in his own dormitory, far away from everyone and brooding in solitude.

When he went down for breakfast the next morning, he was more than ready to give them all a good piece of mind. He was done walking the lines between them, and his Gryffindor friends were going to get over themselves and be friendly with each other, or so help him, they would find out how cruel the wrath of a Slytherin could be. 

He found Harry and Weasley already at the Gryffindor table, in a serious conversation with Longbottom, Thomas and Finnigan, and made his way over to them in determination. He stopped behind them and opened his mouth to start ranting, but before he could get a word out, Harry jumped up and grabbed his elbow, his face urgent.

“I have to talk to you,” he muttered. “ _ Now _ .”

And just like that, Draco’s speech died in his throat, and he found himself dragged out of the castle. Weasley stayed behind with the other Gryffindors, apparently not bothered enough to follow.

“What in Merlin’s name-” Draco began as the entrance door fell closed after them. It was February and it was  _ cold _ and he had not brought his cloak. But in that moment, Harry came to a stop and turned to face him.

“Sirius Black broke into our dormitory last night,” he told him. 

Draco stared at him, his mind wiped blank by white panic the moment he registered the information.

“Excuse me?” he whispered.

“Neville lost his notes for the password to the common room-”

“What kind of idiot-” 

“Nevermind that now,” Harry interrupted him impatiently. “The point is, Black found them, and he got into our dorm. He must have been looking for me, but he got confused because when Ron woke, he was leaning over him, holding a knife.”

“Oh dear,” Draco muttered, feeling numbed by overwhelming fear. 

“Ron screamed, and when everyone woke, Black ran,” Harry finished.

“Salazar,” Draco breathed. “You could have been killed! If he’d found you right away, he’d have-” then he held in, the fog in his mind clearing a little. “Wait, he ran?” he asked.

“Yes,” Harry nodded. 

“Why would he run?” Draco frowned. “Even if Weasley had woken up the whole tower, Black of all people has no need to be afraid of a bunch of  _ kids _ , does he?”

“Maybe he thought he wouldn’t be able to escape with so many witnesses?” Harry suggested. 

“When have witnesses ever bothered Black?” Draco pointed out. “He wiped out a whole street and didn’t bother to run. And he had you  _ right in front of him _ , and he did nothing. It… it doesn’t make sense,” he concluded, dumbstruck. Harry was watching him, now thoughtful himself.

“I did not think of that,” he admitted. “That really is odd.”

“Yeah,” Draco nodded, biting his lip. Then he shook that thought off and asked: “So, I assume they didn’t catch him, did they?” 

“No,” Harry said bitterly. “He escaped before anyone could alert McGonagall.”

“How does he get into the castle?” Draco demanded. “Have you checked the map?”

“No,” Harry sighed. “There was no time.”

“Maybe Hermione’s right,” Draco mused. “Maybe you should hand it in.”

“You think?” Harry asked, looking abashed.

“I don’t know,” he groaned. “I mean, it would be a waste, in all honesty, but we should do  _ anything _ we can to keep Black out, and that map might hold an answer the teachers have been searching for.”

“He can’t have gotten in through the passageways on the map, though,” Harry argued, an edge to his voice. “It’s impossible, I told you. They’re impassable to him.”

“How can you be  _ sure _ ?” Draco prodded. “We can’t assume to know each and every one of Black’s secrets, Harry! He might have found a way to pass them, one that wouldn’t even occur to us because we don’t think like dark wizards!”

Harry did not answer, but he looked sufficiently guilty.

“Alright,” Draco muttered. “I get it, you don’t want to hand out the map. I wouldn’t, either, if I were you. But we have to tell  _ someone _ what we know, with or without pointing to the map.”

“You think we  _ can _ tell anyone about the secret passageways without explaining how we know about them?” Harry asked dubiously.

“ _ You _ can’t,” Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re a horrible liar. I blame it on your house. You are all useless.” He saw Harry bristling at his words, but gave him no chance to argue, instead continuing: “No, it’s got to be me.” 

“You would?” Harry asked, indignation being replaced by honest surprise.

“Honestly, Harry,” Draco scoffed. “When did I ever  _ refuse  _ to do anything for you?”

“Whenever you thought I was being stupid,” Harry answered without missing a beat.

“Fair enough,” Draco chuckled. “Let me rephrase, then; when have I ever refused to do anything that I felt was for your best?”

Harry smiled at that. “Thank you,” he said. “I owe you.”

“Oh, you do,” Draco agreed, glaring at him. “And I have one word for you:  _ Hermione _ .”

Harry flinched.

“I’ll talk to Ron and see what I can do?” he suggested, rather reluctantly.

“Too right you will!” Draco hissed. “Because I’m honestly sick of all the Gryffindor drama. It’s giving me a headache.”

“You’re one to talk about drama,” Harry snorted.

“One more word, and I’ll go straight to Snape and tell him about the map,” Draco threatened.

“Geez, alright,” Harry groaned, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll talk to Ron.”

“Good,” Draco crossed his arms, both to make his point and fight off the cold. “And now can we please go back inside? Preferably before we turn into ice sculptures in the entrance way. The time for Christmas decoration is over.”

 

“Draco,” Professor Lupin sighed, sending him a rather amused smile as the last Slytherin students filtered out of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. “From the pattern of our conversations until now, I’m beginning to feel quite distressed every time you call me out.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco said sheepishly. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. I just have some information for you.”

“Information?” Lupin asked, raising a curious eyebrow at him. 

Draco had decided, after some thorough consideration, that Professor Lupin would be the best teacher to approach about the passageways. Not only was he the closest to their age and had always been remarkably kind to him, but he also seemed the least likely to ask uncomfortable questions. 

“It’s about Sirius Black,” Draco admitted. “And the way he might have entered the castle.”

“Oh dear,” Lupin muttered, his sigh heavier this time. “Please, Draco, follow me into my office.”

They did not speak on the short way up the stairs, and when the door closed behind him, Lupin wordlessly started to prepare tea and gestured for Draco to sit.

“This way, we can’t be overheard,” he noted wearily. “The air is slightly… tense among the staff, and we don’t want anyone to catch pieces of our conversation and jump to conclusions.”

“True,” Draco agreed, making a face. “I came to you for confidentiality in the first place.”

“I’m a teacher, Draco,” Lupin noted, though not unkindly. “You realise I am bound to report everything you tell me, should it prove to be of importance.” 

“I do,” Draco said quickly. “I just hoped you might be less likely to… press me about my sources, compared to your colleagues.”

“I see,” Lupin chuckled, handing Draco his cup of tea and taking his own place behind the desk. “Well, having been James Potter’s friend at school, I cannot deny that I have a past of, let’s say  _ bending the school rules _ a little myself. So I won’t ask you to reveal anything of that nature unless I deem it absolutely necessary. Is that acceptable to you?”

“Yes,” Draco smiled. “Thank you.”

“Now,” Lupin said, folding his hands in his lap and looking at him curiously. “What is it you want to tell me?”

“We suspect that there are some secret passageways in and out of the school that Mr Filch might not be aware of,” Draco explained. “We don’t  _ think _ Black could have entered through them, but it felt wrong to not alert anyone of their existence.”

“And where are these passageways?” Lupin asked. 

“Well, one is behind the mirror on the fourth floor, but it seems to be caved in,” Draco counted off, trying to remember exactly what Harry had told him. “One is behind the statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor, and it leads directly to-”

“The cellar of Honeydukes?” Lupin finished, smiling so widely that it was almost a smirk. “And I reckon the last one starts from underneath the Whomping Willow?”

“You know them?” Draco asked, his eyes wide.

“I do,” Lupin confirmed. “Though I assume not many do. We’ve gone on quite some adventures as kids - not unlike Harry and you, I assume.”

“That means Black knew about them, too,” Draco thought out loud.

The smile fell from Lupin’s face, and he looked guilty and very, very tired. 

“You’re right,” he nodded. “He would. I should speak to the Headmaster about it.”

A tense silence fell upon them, and Draco scrambled for something to say, unwilling to take off on such a note.

“Did you talk to Harry about his parents?” he asked finally, and Lupin met his eyes again, perplexed.

“He did not tell you?” 

“No,” Draco frowned. “But Harry’s is not exactly one to talk about his feelings unless forced.”

“I see,” Lupin chuckled, a smile slowly returning to his face. “Well, you can rest assured. We’ve had more than one conversation about his parents throughout the extra lessons I’m giving him. For details, you will have to ask him, though.”

“I don’t need them,” Draco said quickly. “So, is he making progress on the Patronus Charm?”

“Slowly but steadily,” Lupin nodded. “Harry has a lot of potential. Raw magical talent, not unlike his father. Though he’s not as book-smart as his mother. Then again, few are.”

“He has Hermione and me for that,” Draco shrugged, making Lupin laugh.

“Yes,” the teacher agreed. “I assume he does.”

 

While Draco had dutifully kept his side of the bargain, Harry wasn’t as successful with his promise. To his defence, though, it wasn’t exactly his fault that Weasley was such a horrible pig head. Harry had gone out of his way to be nice to Hermione and strike conversations; Weasley had been the one to take off like a sulky Erumpent every time he did.

“He’ll come around,” Harry told Hermione when she seemed ready to burst into tears after one of these events. “Give him some time.”

“I’m more inclined to give him a fist in the face, at this point,” Draco muttered darkly. 

Hermione, for her part, was operating on increasingly negative energy levels. Draco did not speak to her about dropping classes again, afraid to start another rather counterproductive fight, but he was more than a little sure that the situation would blow up rather sooner than later. And it turned out he was right.

The victim of Hermione’s breakdown was, quite unexpectedly and much to Draco’s amusement, Theodore Nott. It had not even been a particularly vexing event that had caused it. Draco and Hermione had just been making their way out of Arithmancy (Hermione about to use the Time-Turner for the second time that day to get to Divination), when Nott had bumped into Draco in a usual fit of nastiness, causing Draco to drop his books.

“Watch it, Malfoy,” Nott had snickered. “If you get any of that Mudblood slime you’ve been drenched in on me, I’ll have you pay for a new uniform.”

Draco had just rolled his eyes and bent down to retrieve his books, set on ignoring Nott as he usually did. It had caused him to miss Hermione’s movement, but when he heard the sound of an impact, he looked up - and stared incredulously.

Nott was lying on the floor, holding his cheek and gaping at Hermione with wide eyes. Crabbe and Goyle, at his right, looked at each other in alarm, clearly at a loss on how to react. Hermione stood over Nott, shaking out her wrist, her face flushed with rage. 

“Stay away from Draco,” she spat. “He’s ten times the person you are, Nott. You’re nothing more than scum.”

With that, she whirled around, dashing down the corridor faster than Draco could react. All he could do was stare after her in shock.

“What the heck?” whimpered Nott, and for once, Draco quite agreed.

 

“Hermione dropped Divination?” Draco repeated incredulously at lunch, having come to sit at the Gryffindor table to enquire about Hermione’s absence from it. 

“Yes,” Harry confirmed, sounding stunned himself. “She just got up and left in the middle of the class after an - um - slight disagreement with Trelawney.”

“Well,” Draco frowned. “I can’t say I disapprove, exactly, but…”

“It’s out of character?” Harry finished his sentence for him, and Draco nodded. “Is it true she punched Nott for being an arse to you?”

“News travel fast, I see,” Draco noted. “Honestly, I still thought I must have imagined that.”

“I wished I had been there to see it,” Weasley said mournfully. “Could you not have taken a photo, Malfoy?”

“It all happened too quickly,” Draco answered automatically, before realising who he was talking to and narrowing his eyes. “And,” he said pointedly. “Even if I had, I would not have shown you, for the way you’ve been treating Hermione in the last couple of  _ months _ .”

Weasley flushed at that, but for once, he did not fight back. 

Draco was unsure whether it was his words or the fact that Hermione had punched Nott, but that night in the common room, Weasley finally made up with her. 


	6. So Maybe Draco’s Family Was Only Half-Bad, After All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovely and wonderful readers! :D Here I am with the new chapter. We've reached that part of the story again, and like in the other stories, I'd like to apologise if parts of this are too close to the original story for your taste. I tried to shake things up and make them interesting enough, but some passages are hard to edit or emit. So please be lenient with me :) Other than that, enjoy, and let me know what you think :D

The remaining weeks of the school year slipped by relatively eventlessly. Draco and the Slytherin team lost their last match against Hufflepuff in March (Draco cursing Diggory to hell and back for beating him, to the point where he hoped Harry would  _ humiliate _ him in his own match), and Gryffindor won theirs in May, high enough to win the House Cup. While Draco felt little house loyalty to Slytherin, he was envious - after the House Championship had been cancelled the previous year due to the events with the Chamber of Secrets, he had now lost his chance at winning  _ again _ . 

He had no time to sulk over it, though, as exams approached fast and he spent most of his time stuck with his friends at the library. This year, he actually felt like he needed to put an effort into revision, considering his workload, but it was nothing against Hermione, who, even after skipping Divination, still had one subject too many. It showed in the form of thin nerves and dark rings under her eyes. Draco tried his best to help her out, but Hermione being Hermione, she’d rather swallow Longbottom’s toad than give work out of her hands, so his support was limited to sitting next to her and only speaking when he was spoken to.

A week before the exams, though, Harry pulled him aside after lunch, confessing to him, in a hushed voice, that he’d managed to get the Marauder’s Map confiscated.

“What?!” Draco gasped. “Harry!”

“It was an accident,” Harry muttered. “I saw something on the map, and I - oh, nevermind. Anyways, Lupin has it now.”

“Lupin?” Draco asked, surprised. “I did not exactly put Lupin for the kind of teacher to-”

“He was furious with me,” Harry told him gravely. “He said that I should have realised that this map, in Black’s hands, was a map to me, and, well, some other stuff. Anyways, I don’t think he’ll give it back to me.”

For an uncomfortable moment, Draco realised that, with the knowledge of the map, Lupin would understand how Draco had been able to give him the information he had and that Draco had kept Harry’s secret despite the danger he knew it could pose for his friend. 

“Well,” Draco said heavily. “What’s done is done. Maybe it  _ is _ good to have the map in the hand of a teacher, after all.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, not sounding like he meant it. “Let’s not tell Hermione about it, though, okay?”

“She will find out eventually,” Draco reminded him.

“Yes, but not right now,” Harry made a face. “She’s so tense and the last thing I want is another fight so close to the exams.”

“Yeah, alright,” Draco agreed. “It’s probably best to wait till she’s in a better mood.”

 

The awaited “better mood” did not fall upon them in the next couple of weeks. Exams were much crueller than the ones they’d sat in their first year, and while Draco thought he’d done okay in most of them, the others had smaller or bigger breakdowns throughout them. Weasley swore he had flunked History of Magic (how a pureblood like him could not pass in a subject so essential to his own identity, Draco would never understand. An incompetent teacher was no excuse.) and Hermione burst into tears halfway throughout Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Harry took the crown of breakdowns, though, when, after his Divination exam, he swore to Draco and Hermione that he thought the old hag Trelawney had made him an actual real prophecy. 

“You don’t understand!” Harry insisted, when the two of them just looked at each other, eyebrows raised. “You weren’t there! She went in some kind of - trance, you could say, and she said-”  
  
“Harry,” Draco said, in his best calm voice. “I think you’re tired. Exams have been rough on all of us, and-”

“It’s not that!” Harry groaned, glaring at him. “I swear to you, she-”

“Trelawney is an old fraud,” Hermione insisted. “Whatever she says, Harry, I really doubt you’re going to die, no matter how many great old dogs she sees in your future.”

“It’s got nothing to do with the Grim!” Harry objected. “Or me, for that matter! It’s-”

He was interrupted, though, by Weasley hurrying to their table, eyes wide. 

“We gotta go down to Hagrid’s,”  he announced, waving with a note in his hand. “I just got an owl from him. He found Scabbers!”

“Well,” Draco snorted. “Look who came back from the dead.”

Hermione coughed, but kept her silence, much to Draco’s admiration, as Weasley flushed darker than his hair colour. 

“Yes, alright,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ll apologize to Crookshanks when I see him.”

“Crookshanks?!” Hermione spluttered, indignantly. 

“Are you coming or not?!” Weasley demanded. “Because it’s getting dark and if we linger much longer, we won’t be back before curfew.”

“Yes, fine,” Harry muttered, frustration apparent in his voice as he got to his feet. 

The walk down to Hagrid’s was a tense one, with Hermione and Weasley bickering in full force about who deserved what degree of apology (Draco siding with Hermione completely, though he did not get involved), and Harry sulking to himself.

“Don’t be like that,” Draco said after a while, elbowing him. “Exams are over. A dead rat has been recovered alive. Let’s be at peace, shall we?”

“I wasn’t seeing things!” Harry burst out, his voice an angry hiss. “Trelawney  _ did _ make a real prophecy.§

Draco sighed deeply.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s say I believed it. What was the prophecy about?”

“Forget it,” Harry muttered.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Draco muttered, turning to Weasley and Hermione, interrupting them mid-argument. “You two go ahead and get that rat back, Harry and I’ll wait out here, alright?”

Weasley looked like he was going to complain, but Hermione, with one glance towards Harry, grabbed the redhead’s elbow and dragged him on towards Hagrid’s Hut, which was already in sight from where Draco stepped into Harry’s way, bringing them both to an abrupt halt.

“Come on,” Draco said. “You’re obviously dying to tell me, and I’m started to get curious. What kind of prophecy was it?”

“Why should I tell you, if you don’t believe me?” Harry spat, obviously wounded. It made Draco feel a little bad about himself.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I did not mean to doubt  _ you _ . It’s just… you realise how unbelievable this sounds, right?”

“Of course I do!” Harry snapped. “But real life hasn’t always been very believable when I am concerned, now has it?”

Grudgingly, Draco had to admit that Harry had a point there.

“Now tell me,” Draco pleaded. “What was the prophecy about?”

Harry seemed to be struggling with himself, torn between his indignation and the need to share what he had heard, until the latter won out, and he burst out: “About Voldemort!”

Draco flinched. “The Dark Lord?” he asked weakly, silently thinking he’d never get used to his friend’s tendency of speaking the name out loud.

“Yes,” Harry nodded. “She said… well, I  _ think _ she said…” he held in for a moment, as if to sort his thoughts. “I think Black might join up with Voldemort again.”

Draco just looked at him, quite speechless. He had expected some kind of silly prophecy along the lines of “the thing you dread the most will happen soon” or “someone you care about will be hurt” or something equally as ominous. Not this.

“She did not name Black,” Harry amended quickly. “But she said something about ‘a servant chained for 12 years’, and really, who else could it be?”

“There are a lot of former Death Eaters in Azkaban,” Draco reminded him faintly.

“Yes, but they are  _ in Azkaban _ ,” Harry pointed out. “Black is the only one free to go where he pleases, right?” 

“Not the  _ only  _ one, but I see your point,” Draco nodded. “Isn’t Black’s aim  _ you _ , though, rather than-”

“He’s tried getting to me for almost a year, without success,” Harry noted. “Maybe he lost patience and decided to search out his former Master.”

Draco gulped, and a long silence fell upon them. He could feel Harry’s eyes on him, but Draco was staring out into the forest, where the sun was slowly starting to set.

“I think you should tell Dumbledore,” Draco concluded.

“So you believe me?” Harry asked, relieved.

“I’m not sure if I believe that Trelawney is a true seer,” Draco clarified. “But anyway, Dumbledore should hear about this. Because if she turns out to be right, this is serious.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but he was cut off by a yell from Weasley. They both turned to find Weasley and Hermione running towards them, anxious looks on their faces.

“Catch him!” Weasley yelled. “He’s trying to get away!”

“Who?” Draco frowned, but Harry was already searching the floor, and then, the shabby old rat, terribly agile for having been so sickly all year, slipped through Draco’s legs, too fast for him to react. “Oh,” Draco said stupidly, but he was shoved out of the way by Weasley, who desperately tried to catch up with his pet. 

“Crookshanks!” Hermione moaned, almost running into Draco headfirst. “No, go away, Crookshanks! Go away-” 

Draco only belatedly took note of the fluffy monster chasing after the rat, a moment before Weasley threw himself onto the ground, fingers closing around the scrambling rat. 

“Gotcha!” he groaned. “Get off, you stinking cat-”

Crookshanks hissed and glowered at Weasley as the redhead shoved the rat into his pocket, holding it in place. Hermione picked up Crookshanks and scolded him under her breath. 

“Come on, Ron,” Harry called. “Let’s go up to the castle, before-” He trailed off in the middle of the sentence, eyes wide, shoulders tense. Draco was going to ask what was wrong when he, too, heard it: something was approaching them fast, and it did not sound human. Draco’s hand went to his wand immediately, but before he could draw it, a giant, black-furred dog had jumped into their midst, throwing itself at Harry.

Draco reached out immediately, quite ready to throw himself at the dog in turn, and so seemed Weasley, who was scrambling to his feet. The dog rolled off Harry, though, and, with another jump, it launched itself at Weasley. This time, its teeth closed around Weasley’s arms, and it pulled him towards the Dark Forest with inhuman strength. 

Hermione screamed. Harry was back on his feet, sprinting after them, and Draco was on his heels. Even with the baggage of Weasley’s struggling body, though, the dog was too fast for them to catch up to, and then, Draco recognized the tree the dog was heading towards and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Harry!” he yelled. “Watch out-”

But it was already too late. The Whomping Willow had flung one of its branches towards Harry, hitting the boy square in the chest. Harry crashed right into Draco, and the two of them went tumbling to the floor. Draco moaned, his body hurting from the force of the collision, but Harry was already back on his feet, eyes wide.

Weasley and the dog were nowhere to be seen.

“Where are they?!” Harry demanded.

“The - the dog pulled him down that hole,” Hermione stuttered, who caught up with them, Crookshanks at her feet. She was pointing towards the roots of the tree, which was still lashing out at them in desperation. 

Draco cursed. “We have to go for help!” he called. 

“No!” Harry rejected immediately. “That thing’s big enough to eat him, we haven’t got the time-”

“We’re never going to get through without help!” Hermione injected. As if to prove her point, the Willow lashed out at Harry once more, who had to jump out of the way. 

“If the dog can get in, we can,” Harry insisted, watching the branches of the mad tree flip back and forth, as if waiting for a moment to break through its defences. 

Draco’s eyes, though, were drawn to Hermione’s cat, who had jumped forward, avoiding the flailing branches like it was something he did twice a day. In no time at all, Crookshanks had reached the tree and climbed up the thick roots to place his paw purposefully on a knot on the trunk.

Immediately, the tree froze, as if hit by a spell.

“Salazar,” Draco muttered. “We’ve been outsmarted by a cat.”

“Crookshanks!” Hermione whispered, stunned. “How did he know-”

“He’s friends with that dog,” Harry grumbled. “I’ve seen them together. Come on - and keep yours wands out -”

They approached the tree carefully and followed Crookshanks, who went proudly ahead, down the tunnel starting at the foot of the Willow. It was narrow, muddy and dark down there, and Weasley was nowhere to be seen. Harry lid his wand, and Draco copied him. 

“Where’s Ron?” Hermione whispered, sounding terrified. Draco could relate. He had a  _ bad _ feeling about this.

“This way!” Harry pointed, bending to follow after Crookshanks. 

“Where does this tunnel come out?” Hermione asked. 

“Hogsmeade, I think?” Draco muttered, a little breathlessly. “It looked like that on the map.”

“Fred and George think no one ever got in here, so it’s hard to tell,” Harry added. “But it went into that general direction.”

“Great,” Draco said under his breath. “With some luck, we’ll end up in the middle of the Dark Forest, and then it will get  _ really  _ cheerful.”

Hermione whimpered from behind him. 

The tunnel did  _ not _ let out in the forest, as it turned out. Instead, they found themselves in a dirty old room, pieces of broken furniture strewn everywhere, dust covering every inch of it. With a sinking feeling, Draco wished it had been the forest, after all.

“I think we’re in the Shrieking Shack,” Hermione whispered.

“Brilliant,” Draco returned, his voice high. “Absolutely brilliant. I always wanted to see the most haunted building in Britain from the inside.”

“Ghosts didn’t do that,” Harry said slowly, his eyes on the shredded pieces of a chair. 

“But if it’s not ghosts wrecking this place,” Draco said, an edge to his voice. “then  _ what _ -”

He broke off when a creak was to be heard from upstairs. Hermione’s fingers wound themselves around Draco’s arm, holding on tightly. They all stared at the ceiling, before exchanging a couple of gazes that served as silent conversation. Harry went ahead, wand held high, approaching a set of stairs. Draco dislodged Hermione’s grip enough to entwine their fingers, the contact giving him the courage to follow Harry. 

The other boy turned back to catch Draco’s eyes, and they both ended their  _ Lumos _ charm before climbing up the steps, as quietly as they could manage. Upstairs, only one door stood open, and he followed Harry towards it. Noises were to be heard from behind it. 

Harry kicked the door open completely to reveal a large, shabby four-poster bed, on which Crookshanks was currently residing, purring and looking completely at ease with the situation. Weasley was lying on the floor next to it, clutching his leg, which was obviously broken. Hermione let go of his hand, and both her and Harry dashed towards Weasley without a second thought. Draco, though, stood frozen, his eyes searching for the dog. 

“Not a dog,” Weasley yelped out. “Harry, it’s a trap-”

“What-”

“ _ He’s _ the dog! He’s an Animagus!”

Draco’s heart fell, and then, he found himself grabbed by the sleeve of his cloak and shoved into the room. The door fell closed behind him. He whirled around, only to find himself face to face with his mad cousin.

_ Sirius Black. _

The man looked terrible. He was nothing but flesh and bones, and his hair was a wild mess, grown out to hang far past his shoulders. Yellow teeth were bared in a deranged grin. 

“ _ Expelliarmus! _ ” he called, pointing Weasley’s stolen wand at him. Draco’s own wand flew out of his hand, and Black caught it. Harry's and Hermione’s followed. 

Draco stumbled backwards, trying to get away from Black, and bumped into Harry behind him. Black’s wide eyes went from Draco’s face to Harry’s, staring intently. 

“I thought you’d help your friend,” Black noted, his voice rough. “Your father would have done the same for me. Brave of you, not to run for a teacher. I’m grateful… it will make everything much easier.”

Draco felt Harry tense behind him, and acted without thinking. He turned and clung to Harry, just in time before the other boy could dodge him and knock Black to the ground.

“Harry!” he yelped. “Don’t-”

“Let… me… go… Draco-”

“If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us, too!” Weasley called. He’d gotten to his feet, but he looked pale and sickly and was swaying where he stood. Hermione seemed frozen in horror. Harry was still struggling against Draco. 

“Lie down,” Black said, his tone surprisingly gentle, and Draco almost let go of Harry in shock at the change in his voice. “You will damage that leg even more.”

“Did you hear me?” Weasley demanded, but Draco twisted to stare at Black. There was something soft in his expression, something Draco did not associate with a madman. “You’ll have to kill all four of us!”

“There’ll only be one murder here tonight,” Black said, and the grin was back on his face.

“Why’s that?” Harry spat, pushing at Draco so violently that the Slytherin needed to return his full focus to him to make sure he would not slip through his protective grip. “Didn’t care last time, did you? Didn’t mind slaughtering all those Muggles to get at Pettigrew… What’s the matter, gone soft in Azkaban?” 

“Harry!” Hermione whimpered. “Be quiet!”

“HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!” Harry yelled, right into Draco’s ear, making him flinch. Then, he pushed so hard at Draco that the other almost lost his footing, and could only keep Harry from throwing himself at Black by throwing himself at the other boy in turn.

“Har… ry…” Draco panted. 

“It wasn’t me,” Black suddenly said, his voice very quiet. “I’m far from guiltless, I admit, but I never wanted any harm to come to Lily and James, Harry.”

“LIAR!” Harry roared, but Draco froze, his heart hammering in his chest. 

His hands still an iron grip on Harry’s shoulders, he said: “You were their Secret Keeper. Only you could have given their position to the Dark Lord. We heard Fudge say so himself.”

Black was silent for a moment, before asking, in a raspy voice: “You’re Narcissa’s boy, are you not?”

Draco flushed. “My parents’ alliances have nothing to do with me!” he clarified, his voice biting. “If you think I’d hand Harry over to you because my father happened to be on  _ your  _ side of the war, you are gravely mistaken!”

“I do not think that,” Black replied, and there seemed to be a smile in his voice. “It’s good to know my extended family is not completely hopeless, is all.” Harry held in at that, and Draco took that opportunity to look at his cousin over his shoulder. There was  _ pride _ in his eyes, he realised with a start. “I don’t expect you to believe me,” Black continued, finally answering to Draco’s prior accusation. “No one does, after all. But it was not me who betrayed the Potters. I was not their Secret Keeper. It was someone else, and today, I’ll finally be able to avenge their deaths.”

Draco stared at him, completely taken aback. 

“He’s lying,” Hermione whispered from next to him. “He’s got to be.”

“But-” Draco muttered, frowning. What did Black have to gain by telling that kind of lie? He had their wands, and therefore the advantage over them. He could just go ahead and kill Harry, kill them all, and be off. He did not need to convince them of anything. And Harry seemed to realise that, too, because he had stopped fighting Draco and was now staring at Black as if mesmerized.

At that moment, though, movement was to be heard from downstairs. “WE’RE UP HERE!” Hermione screamed. “WE’RE UP HERE - SIRIUS BLACK -  _ QUICK _ !”

“No,” Black whispered, grabbing Weasley’s wand a little tighter. “Not now - I’m so close!” His eyes landed on Weasley, of all people, and he raised his wand. Footsteps approached, and then, there was a shout of “ _ Expelliarmus _ !”

Weasley’s wand flew out of Black’s hand and up into the air, followed by Draco’s, Harry’s, and Hermione’s. Lupin stepped into the room, waving his own wand to collect them before pointing it at Black - who was his old school friend, Draco remembered. It explained the grave, complex expression their teacher was wearing. 

“Remus,” Black whispered, sounding unsure.

“Where is he, Sirius?” Lupin asked, his tone clipped. 

Black only gaped at him, as did everyone else. Then, slowly, he raised a trembling hand, pointing it at Weasley. They all glanced at the redhead in bewilderment, but Lupin’s eyes shot back to Black’s immediately, begging for answers. 

“But then…” he muttered. “Why hasn’t he shown himself before now? Unless-” his eyes widened in understanding. “unless  _ he _ was the one… unless you switched… without telling me?”

Black nodded, and Lupin gasped. 

“Professor Lupin,” Harry spoke up, his voice cutting loudly through the quiet conversation. “what’s going-” But Draco put a hand on Harry’s arm and shook his head. 

They had been wrong about Black, Draco realised. Everyone had been. Before the death of Harry’s parents, someone else had been chosen as their Secret Keeper, and that person had betrayed them to the Dark Lord. Lupin knew it, too, because he was lowering his wand, looking shaken. 

“Who was it?” Draco whispered, making both Lupin and Black look up at him. “Who betrayed them?”

Black’s face became a grimace, and his voice was hateful as he spat out: “Peter Pettigrew.”

“But,” Hermione said, her voice small. “Pettigrew is dead.”

“You killed him!” Weasley supplied, pointing at Black.

“No! Think about it!” Draco injected. “They never found Pettigrew’s body, did they?!”

“I saw Pettigrew on the map,” Harry muttered. “The night when-”

“So did I,” Lupin said grimly. “Earlier tonight, when I studied the map and found you out on the grounds - in the company of two of my old school friends. Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.”

“B-but,” Weasley stuttered. “No one was with us!”

“That’s not true,” Draco reminded him, now staring at Weasley in alarm. “Both Scabbers and Crookshanks were with us.”

“You mean,” Hermione breathed. “He was an Animagus, too?”

“Exactly,” Lupin responded. “All three of them were Animagi. Sirius, Peter, and James.”

“My Dad?” Harry whispered. 

“Yes,” Lupin smiled. “They did it for me.” Lupin sighed, grief shining through his eyes, before saying: “I guess it’s time for me to tell you the whole story.”

“After,” Black spat. “Let’s get it over with, Remus!”

“No,” Lupin shook his head, looking at his old friend sharply. "You can’t just - they need to understand!”

“There’ll be all the time in the world after!”

“No, they need to know  _ now _ ! They have a right to! Ron kept him as a pet! There are parts of it even I don’t understand! And Harry - you owe Harry the truth, Sirius!”

Black looked at Harry then, and the fight seemed to seep out of him. 

“Alright, then,” Sirius muttered. “Tell them whatever you like. But make it quick, Remus! I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for…”

“You’re both nutters,” Weasley announced shakily. 

“Please, Ron,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “Let’s hear what they have to say. Something is… something is not right here.”

“Yes,” Harry said, his voice tight. “I want to hear the truth, whatever it is.”

Lupin looked at Harry, and nodded once, firmly.

“And you will get it,” he promised, an air of finality in his tone.


	7. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! As always, thanks so much for your unbroken support and enthusiasm for this story! It really means a lot to me! I hope you enjoy the next chapter, as well. Again, it crawls pretty much along canon plot, and I'm sorry if parts of it appear repetitive and therefore boring. I tried my best to keep only the necessary dialogues and events in the narrative, but it's hard to emit everything when it is so important to the story. So please bear with it.
> 
> I also apologise profusely to everyone who wanted me to change Sirius' fate in this story. I'm sorry to disappoint your hopes. I honestly considered it, when I first planned out the story, but the consequences of such a change to the rest of the story would be too immense for what I have in store for the boys. I need certain things to happen for the story to proceed, and freeing Sirius at this point of the story would through everything over. So please forgive me.

Lupin’s story was long and began far into his childhood, when he was bitten by a werewolf and turned into one. Draco, quite instinctively, took a step backwards as Lupin revealed his condition, and felt like a horrible person when he saw the resigned disappointment in his teacher’s eyes. Lupin explained that to accommodate him safely at Hogwarts despite his condition, the Shrieking Shack was built for him to withdraw to throughout every full moon so that he would pose no danger to other students. The Whomping Willow was planted to keep students from following him down the passageway. Rumours were spread that the house was haunted to keep the locals away. 

Despite everything, though, Lupin could not keep his secret for long. His friends soon realised where he was disappearing to every few weeks, and to support their friend, they secretly became unregistered Animagi. 

“They couldn’t keep me company as humans, so they kept me company as animals,” Lupin said with a smile. “A werewolf is only a danger to people. They sneaked out of the castle every month under James’ Invisibility Cloak. They transformed, and joined me in the Shack. Under their influence, I became less dangerous. My body was still wolfish, but my mind seemed to become less so when I was with them.”

He went on explaining how they left the shelter of the Shrieking Shack together, despite the danger, and explored the Hogwarts grounds and Hogsmeade to their fullest. They wrote the Marauder’s Map, which impressed Draco more than he could put in words. But there had been many close calls, and one of them had involved Professor Snape, of all people. 

“We were in the same year,” Lupin told them. “And - er - we didn’t like each other very much.”

Apparently, Snape had poked around, trying to find out where Lupin went once a month, and Black had played a joke on him - had told him how to get into the tunnel to find Lupin. Harry’s father, though, had pulled him back before he could be hurt - still, he had glimpsed Lupin’s wolf form at the end of the tunnel.

“He was forbidden to tell anybody by Dumbledore,” Lupin said. “but from that time on, he knew what I was.”

“So that’s why Snape doesn’t like you,” Harry muttered. “because he thought you were in on the joke.”

“That’s right,” Snape’s cold, snarling voice rang from the corridor, making all of them freeze. Then, the door jumped open and Snape stepped into the room, wand pointed at Lupin, his expression one of nasty triumph. 

Hermione screamed. Black jumped up, both alarmed and livid. Harry twitched violently beside Draco, who merely stared at the scene in front of him in shock. He had not noticed Snape’s arrival.  _ How _ had none of them heard him approach?! He must have used magic to soften every noise he made. But how had he-

“You’re wondering, perhaps, how I knew you were here?” Snape said softly, dangerously. “I’ve just been to your office, Lupin. You forgot to take your potion tonight, so I took a gobletful along. And very lucky I did… lucky for me, I mean. Lying on your desk was a certain map. One glance at it told me all I needed to know. I saw you running along this passageway and out of sight.”

“Severus-” Lupin began, but Snape did not pause to let him speak.

“I’ve told the Headmaster again and again that you’ve been helping your old friend into the castle, Lupin, and here’s the proof.”

“Professor,” Draco said loudly. “You’re misunderstanding! He didn’t-”

“Quiet, Malfoy!” Snape spat. “You’re in enough trouble as it is. Do not make your situation worse.”

“But Professor Lupin did nothing wrong!” he protested hotly. “And Black is innocent! If you’d just let them-”

“Enough!” Snape bellowed, and with a loud banging sound, he conjured ropes that wound themselves around Lupin’s body, immobilising him. Black started at him, but Snape had already raised his wand towards him. “Give me a reason,” he whispered. “Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will.”

“Professor Snape,” Hermione spoke up, her voice quivering. “It - it wouldn’t hurt to hear what they’ve got to say, w-would it?”

As Snape turned to snap at Hermione, though, Harry was already moving - swiftly, he picked up his wand from where it had fallen to the ground as Lupin had been bound. Draco copied him, collecting the rest of them and handing theirs back to both Hermione and Weasley as Snape turned back to threaten Black with the Dementors. Harry, on the other hand, crossed the room to block the exit.

Harry tried once more to reason with Snape, but Draco could have told him it was no use. Snape, fired on by their old school-rivalry, seemed too incensed to see sense. The argument soon turned into shouts, and Draco raised his wand behind Snape’s back. So did both Hermione and Weasley. 

By pure chance, they all shot a Disarming Spell at Snape at the exact same moment. The force of the combined spells knocked him off his feet and into the nearest wall, and when he slid to the floor, he was unconscious. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Black said, sounding disconcerted. “You should have left him to me...”

“Well, you weren’t doing that good of a job, to be quite honest,” Draco noted, and then bent down to help Professor Lupin out of his confinement, ignoring Hermione’s mini-breakdown about attacking a teacher pointedly. When the man was finally free once more, he got to his feet and shot Draco a grateful smile. 

“Thank you,” he said. “You too, Harry.”

“I’m still not saying I believe you,” Harry warned. 

“Then it’s time we offered you some proof,” Black said decisively, turning to Weasley. “You, boy - give me Peter. Now.”

Weasley, being the troll he was, objected vehemently, claiming that there was no proof that Scabbers, of all rats in the world, was their old friend in Animagus form. Black, though, insisted that it was him - that he had recognised him in the photo of the Weasleys in the  _ Daily Prophet _ over the summer when it happened to fall into his hands, and had broken out of Azkaban consequently to search his revenge, using his Animagus form to slip past the Dementors. He pulled out the paper for proof, to show it to Lupin, who gasped after studying it closely. 

“My god,” he muttered. “His front paw…”

“What about it?” Weasley demanded. 

“He’s got a toe missing,” said Black meaningfully, and just like that, it all fell into place for Draco.

“All they ever found of Pettigrew was a finger,” he recalled, and Harry stared at him, eyes widening in understanding.

“Of course,” Lupin breathed. “So simple… so  _ brilliant _ … He cut it off himself?”

“Just before he transformed,” Black confirmed, retelling the events of the day he had cornered Pettigrew after the death of Harry’s parents, and how he had blown up the street and faked his own death before fleeing in rat form. 

Weasley still fought them tooth and nail, refusing to hand over his pet, until Draco had had enough. He crossed the room towards Weasley in quick strides and pushed the other boy onto the empty bed. He went, wobbling, and let go of the rat in his wandless hand as a consequence. The rat tried to take flight, but Lupin caught it before it could jump off the bed, holding it none-too-gently in a firm grip. 

“Ready, Sirius?” he asked. 

The other man nodded, picking up Snape’s wand from the floor.

“Together?”

“I think so.”

And then, on the count of three, they both shot a well-aimed spell at the struggling rat. Lupin let go of him, and the rodent froze in mid-air, twisting madly, and then, the transformation started. Draco stared, spellbound, as Weasley’s shabby rat took on the form of an even shabbier person, his hair colourless and wild, balding in places, skin to the bones, not unlike Black across from him. He was cowering in their midst, eyes darting back and forth between Black and Lupin.

“Well, hello, Peter,” Lupin said, his tone calm and fake-pleasant. “Long time no see.”

“S-Sirius… R-Remus…” Pettigrew stuttered. “My friends… my old friends…”

Draco then averted his eyes from the scene, instead watching Harry. His friend was deadly pale, and his flashing green eyes were glued to Pettigrew, pain and fury shining through them in equal measures. Draco had to ball his hands into firsts to stop himself from reaching out to him, the urge to help and comfort suddenly overwhelming. 

He missed most of the rational discussion Lupin was trying to have with Pettigrew, too distracted, but he zoned back in when Black turned to Harry, addressing him directly, pleading with him. 

“Believe me,” he croaked. “Believe me. I never betrayed James and Lily. I would have died before I betrayed them.”

And suddenly, Draco saw himself in Sirius Black - a boy who’d do anything for his best friend, and who would never,  _ ever _ have let any harm come to him if he could prevent it. Harry seemed to see the same, or something similar, because he nodded. 

“No!” Pettigrew yelled in despair, falling to his knees, pleading with them as both Black and Lupin closed in on him, wands raised. The scenes that followed were anything but pretty. Pettigrew pleaded not only to his former friends but to Weasley, Hermione and Draco, and even dared speaking to Harry, until finally, he confessed. He was an ugly thing, even more so when he was sobbing uncontrollably.

“He - he was taking over everywhere!” he wailed. “W-what was there to be gained by refusing him?”

“What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who has ever existed?” Black mocked. “Only innocent lives, Peter!”

“You don’t understand! He would have killed me, Sirius!”

“THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!” Black yelled. “DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!”

“You should have realised,” Lupin said quietly. “If Voldemort didn’t kill you, we would. Goodbye, Peter.” 

The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, wands raised, ready to take the long-overdue revenge for their mutual friends, and a part of Draco, the nasty one buried deep inside of him, cheered them on, waiting for it to happen. This man was to blame that Harry had no parents, hadn’t known love for the most part of his life, was returned to these awful Muggles summer for summer, suffering more than Draco could begin to imagine-

“NO!” Harry called, to all their shock, and jumped in front of Pettigrew, blocking him from the path of their wands. “You can’t kill him!” he gasped. “You can’t!”

Draco gaped, not understanding. How could Harry protect Pettigrew, after everything he had done, after how much he had wanted to see Black dead after hearing Fudge's version of the story?!

“Harry, this piece of vermin is the reason you have no parents,” Black snarled. “This cringing bit of filth would have seen you die, too, without turning a hair. You heard him. His own stinking skin meant more to him than your whole family.”

“I know,” Harry panted. “We’ll take him up to the castle. We’ll hand him over to the Dementors. He can go to Azkaban… just don’t kill him.”

Harry really _was_ too inherently good a person, Draco thought as Pettigrew threw himself to Harry’s feet, thanking him profusely, and Harry backed away in disgust.

“I’m not doing this for you!” he spat. “I’m doing this because I don’t reckon my dad would’ve wanted his best friends to become killers - just for you.”

There was a long silence, before both Black and Lupin eventually bowed to Harry’s will. They tied Pettigrew up, fixed Weasley as best as they could, and levitated Snape to follow after them before they set off, down the stairs and out of the wrecked building, through the tunnel. Crookshanks led the way, followed by Weasley and Lupin, both chained to the human rat, and Black went after them, levitating Snape ahead of them. At some point, he turned to catch Harry's eyes, saying: „You know what this means? Turning Pettigrew in?“

„You're free,“ Harry returned.

Draco thought he knew where this was going, and he was proven right when Black continued: „Yes... But I'm also – I don't know if anyone ever told you – I'm your godfather.“

Draco took Hermione's arm and slowed their steps, purposefully falling back to give the two of them some privacy. He smiled tentatively at her as they continued, far enough behind to only be able to catch bits and pieces of the conversation.

Harry seemed excited, ecstatic at the prospect of leaving his Muggle family behind, and Draco felt happy for him, though he was also worried. Though he felt a certain affection for his cousin now, knowing his real circumstances - it  _ was  _ nice to know that he had some decent relatives, after all - though he thought that the whole situation was still too tangled up for him to promise Harry an escape like that. What if something went wrong? What if nobody believed the real story? What if Black did not walk free, at the end of it? And what if he  _ did _ – would the wizarding society be able to just disregard years and years of seeing him as an evil, deranged murderer, and let him live at peace? Every environment was better for Harry than the one he had at Surrey, Draco knew that, but it would not do to move him from one hellhole to another, either.

When they reached the end of the tunnel, Crookshanks slid out to press the knot that froze the Whomping Willow. He really  _ was _ an amazingly smart cat, Draco thought in fascination. Hermione was right to be fiercely proud of him. After Weasley, Pettigrew and Lupin had climbed out, Black levitated Snape out and letting Harry, Hermione and Draco pass ahead of him. He sent Draco a quick grin, which Draco returned before following after his friends.

The sun had set in the time they had spent inside the Shrieking Shack, and the grounds were dark and gloomy, clouds blocking the light from the stars and moon. They continued their way on to the castle, and Draco was running the story through his head, trying to think of the best way to prove their account of the story to the officials. Pettigrew would try to turn the whole thing on Black once he got the chance, he knew, and Snape, once awake, would be no help, so they had to-

His thought process was interrupted, though, by the moon breaking through the clouds.  _ It's full moon,  _ he thought distractedly, before coming to an abrupt halt.

It was  _ full moon _ .

Lupin had frozen in his steps, and he was twitching violently. Black seemed to realise what was happening a moment later, because he jumped in front of Harry, Hermione and Draco, shielding them.

„Oh my-“ Hermione gasped. „He didn't take his potion tonight! He's not safe!“

„Run,“ Black hissed. „Run! Now!“

Draco reached for Harry's arm, but he didn't move, his eyes on Weasley, still chained to Pettigrew and, by extension, Lupin. Draco cursed.

„Leave it to me – RUN!“ Black called.

Lupin made a snarling noise as he turned, though Black was blocking Draco's view. He pulled at Harry's arm once more, whimpering, but the other boy didn't budge.

Before them, Black turned back into his Animagus form and lurged at Lupin, who had fully transformed into a werewolf by now. He pulled at Lupin's neck, dragging him away from Weasley and Pettigrew, who, suddenly free from the threat of his old school friends, acted immediately. He dove for the wand Lupin had dropped, throwing Weasley off his feet, and before any of them could react, he was firing spells at everything nearby – Weasley, Crookshanks, and them.

„ _ Expelliarmus!“  _ Harry yelled, regaining his composure the fastest, but disarming Pettigrew had only so much effect, since the other man had started turning back into his Animagus form, too. „Stay where you are!“ Harry shouted, to no effect. It was impossible to find a rat in such darkness, moonlight or no moonlight.

Hermione rushed to check on Weasley. Harry was shouting for Black, who had taken off after Lupin and disappeared from sight. Draco, though, was looking at the sky. Suddenly, as if someone had turned down the temperature, it grew incredibly cold – cold enough for their breath to fog in front of them.

„No,“ Draco moaned.

„Sirius,“ Harry muttered, and then he was running.

„No!,“ Draco called, tearing himself out of his fearful daze to take off after Harry. „Harry, wait! It's too dangerous!“

There was no stopping him, though, as he sprinted towards the lake, desperate to get to his godfather before the Dementors did. Nevertheless, when they reached the shore, they were already closing in on Black, who had turned back to his human form and was cowering on the ground, seeming powerless to even move.

„Nooo,“ Harry moaned. „Noooo... please...“

Draco, though, could barely hear him over the noises breaking out inside his head. The turning of pages, the scratching of a quill, damp footsteps on the stone floor, Harry's voice, screaming his name.

„Think of something happy!“ Harry called to him, raising his wand.

„What?“ Draco croaked, but Harry was already shouting an incantation, his voice shaking.

„ _ Expecto Patronum! _ Come on, Draco, please!  _ Expecto Patronum!“ _

Draco's hand was shaking so hard he could barely hold his wand up. He tried to repeat after Harry, but the words came out breathy, barely louder than a whisper. Nothing happened.

„ _ EXPECTO PATRONUM! _ “ Harry shouted, and a thin silver veil spread from Harry's wand, the shadow of a Patronus.

Draco felt cold, so cold. His wand dropped from his hand, and he pressed his shaking fists against his temples, willing the noises to shop. But they only grew stronger, and it was like he was there again, down in that Chamber, and he was going to die, he  _ deserved _ to die, Weasley was right, he was no better than his father, he had attacked Hermione, Harry was going to hate him, hate him,  _ hate him _ ,  _ HATE HIM _ ...

 

When he came to again, he was under warm covers, but he felt weak and shivery. He could hear voices, but they sounded like he was hearing them from underwater, and he could not make out what they were saying.

It was Harry's voice that broke through, loud and clear, shouting: „YOU GOT THE WRONG MAN!“

Draco tore his eyes open with a lot of effort. He was in the hospital wing, he realised, and there were a lot of people on their feet, arguing on top of their lungs: Harry, Hermione, Madam Pomfrey, Professor Snape, the Minister for Magic...

„WE'RE NOT CONFUNDED!“ Harry yelled.

„Minister! Professor!“ Madam Pomfrey called, her voice indignant. „I must insist that you leave. Potter is my patient and he should not be distressed!“

Draco sat up, but nobody took note of him. They kept arguing, though what about, Draco's sluggish mind could not comprehend. His eyes fell on the bar of chocolate on his bedside table, and he reached for it automatically. Just as he was taking his first bite, Dumbledore entered the room, and all attention turned to the Headmaster. There was more shouting, but Dumbledore seemed immune to it, as he requested, in a calmness that stood in stark contrast to everyone's shouts, to talk to Harry, Hermione and Draco.

Hermione turned to look at Draco then, eyes wide and panicky, and Draco felt the chocolate work its magic: warmth spread through his stomach, and his mind cleared a little. He took another bite.

Snape was fighting with Dumbledore now, and the words started to register with Draco: Black was lying, he claimed. Pettigrew had not been in the Shrieking Shack, nor on the grounds, and when Hermione pointed out that he'd been knocked out, he yelled at her to be quiet. Draco almost choked on the chocolate in his mouth to back Hermione up, but Dumbledore was faster.

„I would like to speak to the three students alone,“ he insisted. „Cornelius, Severus, Poppy – please leave us.“

„Headmaster!“ Madam Pomfrey objected. „They need treatment, they need rest-“

„This cannot wait. I must insist.“

They left, eventually, with varying degrees of protest, Snape the last of them. As soon as the door had fallen closed after them, Harry and Hermione were talking at the Headmaster, but Dumbledore silenced him by simply raising his hand.

„It is your turn to listen,“ he told them, his voice firm and urgent. „and I beg you will not interrupt me, because there is very little time.“ Thankfully, Harry and Hermione obeyed, and he continued: „There is not a shred of proof to support Black's story, except your word – and the word of three thirteen-year-old wizards will not convince anybody. A street full of eye-witnesses swore they saw Sirius murder Pettigrew. I myself gave evidence to the Ministry that Sirius had been the Potter's Secret-Keeper.“

„Professor Lupin can tell you-“ Harry began.

„Professor Lupin is a werewolf, Harry,“ Draco pointed out in a shaky voice. „He'll be trusted less than us, especially seeing his connection to Black.“

„He's also unable to tell us anything, since he's currently deep in the Forest, and by the time he is human again, it will be too late,“ Dumbledore added. „Sirius will be worse than dead.  _ Listen to me, Harry!“  _ he pressed as Harry opened his mouth to protest. „It's too late, you understand me? You must see that Professor Snape's version of the events is far more convincing than yours.“

„He hates Sirius!“ Hermione called desperately. „All because of some stupid trick Sirius played on him-“

„Sirius has not acted like an innocent man. The attack on the Fat Lady – entering Gryffindor Tower with a knife – without Pettigrew, alive or dead, we have no chance of overturning Sirius' sentence!“

„But you believe us?!“ Harry interrupted.

„Yes, I do,“ Dumbledore ensured him. „But I have no power to make other men see the truth, or to overrule the Minister of Magic... What we need,“ he said, turning to Hermione and Draco, a pointed look in his eyes. „is more  _ time _ .“

Draco immediately understood the implication, even though Hermione took a moment, but when Draco met her eyes, her mouth fell open and she muttered a soft „Oh.“

„Now pay attention,“ Dumbledore continued. „Sirius is locked in Professor Flitwick's office on the seventh floor. Thirteenth window from the right of the West Tower. Remember,  _ you must not be seen _ . Mr Malfoy, Miss Granger, you both know the law – you know what is at stake...  _ you – must – not – be – seen.“ _

Draco nodded once, in determination. Harry was looking back and forth between him and Hermione, confusion evident on his face.

„I am going to lock you in,“ Dumbledore noted. „It is-“ he looked at his watch. „five minutes to midnight. You have been here for about an hour. Two turns, to be safe. Good luck.“

And with that, he left the room, closing the door behind himself and turning the lock.


	8. Saving Sirius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers! We finally reached the last chapter of this instalment. Thank you all so much for following and supporting me through this part which, I have to admit, was not always easy to write for me. I once again apologise for any changes you would have liked me to make that have not happened. I hope you can forgive me. 
> 
> I am very excited to get to posting the fourth instalment. I am a couple of chapters ahead and I hope I will manage to uphold the posting speed I am at now for at least a little longer, though I can't make any promises. I will be moving soon and life will be hectic. For notifications on updates on this series, please subscribe to it, and not only to the stories :) You will be safe to be alerted of every new instalment that way.
> 
> Now enough talk! Please enjoy the last chapter of the third instalment, and drop me your thoughts when you're finished :)

“What - how - what happened?!” Harry demanded, his voice shaky as Draco dragged him along by the arm, hurrying after Hermione, who was sprinting ahead, down the castle corridors. 

“What time is it, Draco?” Hermione demanded as they reached the entrance hall, completely ignoring Harry’s question.

“Must be close to eight o’clock,” Draco mused, and as if to confirm his statement, the bells of the castle’s clock tower rang once, twice, …

“Where were we at eight o’clock?” Hermione questioned, stopping to pull the entrance door wide open. “Were we still down in the Shrieking Shack?” 

“I think so,” Draco nodded, exiting the castle through the door Hermione held open, still pulling Harry along. 

“Will someone tell me-” Harry began, but Hermione cut him off, catching up with them.

“We’ve gone back in time,” she explained, gasping. “Two hours, to be exact.”

Harry blanched at those words, his confusion not clearing, so Draco jumped to elaborate: “At the beginning of this term, Hermione and I were handed a Time-Turner, to help us get to all of our classes.” Hermione held the Time-Turner up for Harry to see, as Draco continued: “We had to swear not to tell anyone. They had to get them with special permission from the Ministry, and we had to agree to all sort of terms, like not to use them for other than academic purposes.”

“But what is it that Dumbledore wants us to do?” Hermione demanded as they approached the Whomping Willow in quick steps. 

“Well, obviously he wants us to change something,” Draco frowned. “But what exactly, I’m not sure either.”

“We have to catch Pettigrew!” he said, his eyes alight with understanding and fire. “If we keep him from escaping, then we can prove to Fudge that Sirius is innocent.”

“And how exactly are we going to do that?” Draco asked, scrambling for patience, reminding himself that Harry was new to time travelling. “We can’t exactly jump out and attack them as soon as they step out of the Willow.”

“Why not?”

“Because we can’t be seen, Harry!” Hermione told him frantically. “There’s a reason it’s against Wizarding Law to change time! What do you think you’d do if you were attacked by  _ yourself _ , Harry?”

“I’d - I’d think I’d gone mad,” Harry muttered, the fight going out of him all at once. “or I’d think there was some Dark Magic going on-”

“You’d probably end up hurting yourself, and we can’t let that happen,” Draco confirmed grimly. “So we have to find a way to help Sirius without being seen.”

“But can’t we still catch Pettigrew?” Harry asked, his tone longing. “We know the direction he’s running off to, so we can-”

“How will you catch a rat in the dark while a werewolf is running free nearby?” Draco demanded, exasperated. “Be realistic, Harry. It’s not going to happen. We have to think of something else!”

“Draco,” Hermione said sharply, cutting him off. “Do you hear that?”

Both Harry and Draco fell silent, and indeed, low voices were coming from the tunnel below the Whomping Willow - their own voices - growing steadily louder. 

“Shit,” Draco cursed, grabbing Harry’s arm again. “Come on, we need to move!”

“Where to?” Harry hissed, though he was not resisting. “We need to help, Draco-”

“We need to stay out of Lupin’s way first!” Draco insisted, running blindly into a direction he knew the werewolf would not be going, where they might be safe… 

“Over there!” Hermione said, and Draco whirled around to where she was pointing. They were halfway back to Hagrid’s Hut, and over at the foot of the forest, a large enclosure was stretching out, sheltered by a sketchily built wooden stable. The Hippogriffs Hagrid had shown them at the beginning of the term were peacefully lying across it, sound asleep. 

“Are you sure?” Draco asked wearily. “If we wake them-”

“We have no time!” Hermione hissed, and then, Professor Lupin’s howl was tearing through the air, not far from them at all. “Come on!”

Without any further protests, they followed Hermione into the enclosure. They moved carefully past the sleeping creatures until they reached the stables. Thankfully, they were deserted - the air was warm enough for the Hippogriffs to sleep without shelter. They all ducked inside, and Draco carefully closed the door behind them. He let out a sigh of relief and leaned against the wall next to it, looking at the others in the darkness. 

“Now, what?” Harry demanded, loud enough that both Hermione and Draco shushed him. “We can’t save Sirius from in here!” he continued, his voice softer but no less urgent. “We need to-”

“We need to stay out of the way!” Draco insisted. “There are werewolves and Dementors and who knows what else out there, and we can’t-” But Harry’s eyes had widened at his words, and Draco trailed off, intrigued. “What?”

“The Dementors,” Harry whispered. “Draco, did you see who saved us from the Dementors?”

Draco blinked. So much had been going on that he had completely forgotten their near-death-experience not long ago. Or, in their current timeline, rather soon. 

“No,” he said. “When I passed out, we were alone.”

“Someone saved us,” Harry told him, his voice urgent. “Someone cast a Patronus. You did not see him?”

“No,” Draco shook his head. “Who was it?”

Harry stayed silent, staring into space, and before Draco could ask any further, the door next to him was pushed open. Draco jumped and crossed the distance towards Harry and Hermione, his fingers scrambling for his wand, but Harry’s hand landed on his shoulder, restraining him. 

“Don’t panic,” he hissed. “It’s Buckbeak.”

Draco halted and turned around to look at the tall Hippogriff standing in the doorway, looking at them in suspicion. Both Harry and Hermione bowed, and Draco hastily followed their example, relieved when the Hippogriff bowed back. 

“I’m sorry for waking you,” Harry said, carefully approaching the creature until he could pat its eagle head. “We needed a place to hide.”

The Hippogriff let out a soft noise, as if to acknowledge his words. 

“Harry,” Hermione said slowly, staring at the Hippogriff. “I think I know what Dumbledore wanted us to do!”

“What?” Harry asked, looking at her sharply.

“We can’t catch Pettigrew without being seen,” she said, her voice urgent. “But we can help Sirius escape before he gets kissed!”

“But how?” Harry demanded.

“The Hippogriff,” Draco whispered, understanding where Hermione was going. “He can escape with Buckbeak. He’ll be much faster flying with a Hippogriff than running as a dog.”

“Exactly,” Hermione nodded. “It will also help us get up to the West Tower. The thirteenth window from the right, remember?”

“That’s it,” Draco nodded, his heart racing. “We’ll snatch Sirius away right under Fudge’s nose!”

His enthusiasm was cut short, though, when the air suddenly grew terribly cold around them, making him shiver.

“The Dementors,” Draco whispered. “They’re here.”

Harry was staring past Buckbeak, biting his lip, shifting from one foot to another. 

“I need to go,” he said sharply. “I need to see-”

“Harry, it’s dangerous!” Draco hissed. “We can’t-”

“It was my Dad, Draco!” Harry cut him off, turning to catch his eyes. “My Dad was the one who cast that Patronus.”

All air went out of Draco at those words, and he just stared at his friend, uncomprehending.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered, her voice both tentative and firm. “Your Dad’s - well - dead.”

“I know that,” Harry replied. “Maybe I was seeing things, but… it looked like him.”

“Harry,” Draco said softly. “You know the effects Dementors can have on you, and you were desperate, so you might have-”

“I know!” Harry nodded. “I know that, but - I just need to go. I need to  _ see _ . I’m sorry,” and with that, he pushed past Buckbeak, not waiting for a reply as he slipped outside.

Draco cursed, rushing to follow after him.

“Stay here with Buckbeak,” he told Hermione as he passed the Hippogriff with a little bow. “I’ll bring him back.”

“Be careful!” Hermione breathed urgently, and Draco nodded as he took off after Harry, who was running in the direction of the lake. Harry was fast, though, faster than him despite their difference in height, and Draco did not catch up with him until the other came to a sudden stop at the shore, staring out across it.

There were the Dementors, swooping down on Sirius as well as on him and Harry. He saw himself collapse, and Harry’s weak attempts at a Patronus flaring up. He looked around, waiting for anyone to appear, but there was no one in sight. Under his breath, Harry was muttering: “Come on! Where are you? Dad, come on-”

But no one was coming. On the other side, one of the Dementors was approaching Sirius. It was lowering its hood, and-

“Harry,” Draco whispered, horrified, but before he could say any more, Harry was charging forward, his wand raised.

“ _EXPECTO PATRONUM_!” he yelled, and Draco stared, open-mouthed, as a fully corporeal Patronus was emerging from Harry’s wand, in the form of a large, bright stag, so blinding that Draco had to shield his eyes for a moment. When he dared to look again, the stag was chasing away the Dementors, fiercely protecting Harry, Draco and Sirius. Only when all Dementors had fled the scene did the Patronus turn. It walked back across the still water of the lake, approaching the Harry next to him, who was staring at it as if transfixed. 

“Prongs,” he whispered, and Draco understood. James Potter’s animagus form had been a stag. 

Only when the Patronus had flickered out of existence did Harry turn to meet Draco’s eyes, his face full of emotion.

“You didn’t see your father,” Draco murmured. “You saw yourself. You saved our lives. Damn, Harry,” he gulped, his throat dry. “Do you know how many Dementors that Patronus chased away? That’s…  _ really _ powerful magic, not to mention advanced.  _ Damn. _ ”

“I knew I could do it this time,” Harry replied, sounding stunned, like he himself could not quite believe he had just done that. “because I’d already done it… Does that make sense?”

“No,” Draco muttered. “Yes? I don’t know.” Draco’s head felt fuzzy. His heart was pounding and he felt hot all over, and he had no idea why. Only when something moved on the other side of the lake did he regain his senses. “Snape,” he hissed, stepping back into the shadows hastily. “Come on, Harry. We need to get back to Hermione and Buckbeak. Snape can’t see us.”

Harry did not protest, just following him back into the Forest, setting out to find their way back to the Hippogriff enclosure.

 

Sirius’ face as he saw Harry, Hermione and Draco on the back of a flying Hippogriff outside the window of the room he was kept in was something Draco would probably forever remember with amusement. If he’d had the time, he’d have had a good laugh at it, but as it was, they were working on a schedule, and so they had to transport Sirius to the top of the West Tower, where they landed to free the poor animal of three of its riders. 

“Sirius, you’d better go, quick,” Harry told him urgently. “They’ll reach Flitwick’s office any moment, they’ll find out you’ve gone.”

“What happened to the other boy?” Sirius asked, scanning their expressions worriedly. “Ron?”

“No need to worry about him,” Draco told him quickly. “You  _ really  _ have to hurry!”

“How can I ever thank-”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” Draco cursed. “Don’t waste time and get caught, that’s all we need as gratitude!”

“Go!” Hermione pleaded. “Please!”

Finally, Sirius got the message. Buckbeak took a running start and then rose into the air, Sirius looking over his shoulder to call out to Harry.

“We’ll see each other again,” he promised. “You are - truly your father’s son, Harry…”

And with that, he finally took off, out into the open sky. Harry stared after him, transfixed, emotion plain on his face, and Draco gave him a couple of seconds before elbowing him. 

“We’ve got to get back to the hospital wing,” he reminded him. “Come on!”

They almost ran into Fudge, Snape  _ and Peeves _ on the way back, but they managed to dodge them. They arrived at the hospital wing just as Dumbledore was backing out of the door, directing his last few words to their other selves. When he turned to face them, he was smiling brightly, a look of satisfaction on his face.

“Well?” he asked.

“We did it,” Harry reported, out of breath. “Sirius has gone, on, um. Buckbeak, the Hippogriff.”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at that, his smile widening.

“Nice touch,” he complimented. “Well done. I think-” he held in for a moment to listen. “Yes, I think you’ve gone, too. Get inside - I’ll lock you in-”

When they entered the infirmary, the room was empty apart from Weasley, who was still out cold. When the Headmaster locked the door behind them, they hurried to slip back into their beds, just in time before Madam Pomfrey popped in her head, her eyes narrowed. She was very grumpy as she saw to them, handing them more chocolate, watching them with eagle’s eyes as they ate. 

It did not take long before voices were to be heard from the corridors and the door burst open once more, throwing them into a shouting match with Snape and Fudge. Snape seemed dead-set on the idea that Harry was to blame for Sirius’ escape, while Fudge seemed more worried about Snape’s state of mind as well as what a fresh escape of Sirius Black would do to the image of the Ministry. Dumbledore was the one who broke them apart, sending Snape his merry way and accompanying an inconsolable Minister outside just before Weasley awoke.

“What - what happened?” he asked, rather groggily as he blinked at them all in turn. “Harry? Why are we in here? Where’s Sirius? Where’s Lupin? What’s going on?”

The three of them exchanged a look, and Draco snorted. 

“You explain,” Harry smirked, picking up another piece of chocolate.

“After you, Hermione,” Draco snickered, leaning back.

Hermione glared half-heartedly at them before turning back to Weasley and beginning her story. 

 

Their remaining week at Hogwarts stayed a rollercoaster of emotions. For one, Hagrid was inconsolable in the face of his beloved Hippogriff escaping.

“I don' know what I've done wrong,” he sobbed at the four of them over tea the afternoon they had been released from the hospital. “I know he's tough an' all, but what if somethin' happens to him? I bred him, yeh know. He's never been out on his own.”

They tried their best comforting him while staying as tight-lipped as possible. Draco felt guilty for keeping information from Hagrid, but he knew it was for the better. The knowledge that Buckbeak was currently in the hands of someone he thought was a murderer would do nothing to quench his worries.

Way worse, though, was the news that Professor Lupin had resigned. Harry told him all about it after he’d visited their teacher at his office, and had found him packing his things.

“Snape told everyone that he’s a werewolf,” he explained, his expression dark and angry. 

“Of course he did,” Draco thought bitterly. “Brilliant. He rid us of the only DADA teacher that was ever any good. Who knows who we’ll get next. I don’t even  _ want _ to think about it.”

He held in when he saw the miserable look on Harry’s face. His friend had been far from cheerful since their fateful night, and Draco could hardly blame him. Sirius had offered him the prospect of a home, a family, and in the same minute the idea had settled in Harry’s mind, it had been taken away once more. And now, another direct connection to his father was leaving Harry’s life, and he had no idea when he was going to see him again.

“Hey,” Draco said softly, making Harry look up at him. “It’s going to be fine,” he promised. “It  _ always _ turns out fine, in the end, doesn’t it? I know it sucks right now, but it will get better. Just have faith.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, sending him a small smile. “You’re right, I guess.”

 

There was some good news, too, though. Not only had they all passed their end-of-year exams, but Hermione announced, much to Draco’s relief, that she was going to drop Muggle Studies and return to a life without Time-Turner for the next term.

“Thank Merlin,” Draco breathed. “I swear if I have to go through another year like this, I’ll feed you all to the giant squid.”

“What an awfully aggressive declaration from the person who’s been working so hard at drafting the peace between us all year,” Harry teased. 

“Well, you don’t know how close I was to just knocking your heads together and yelling,” Draco glowered. “I’m a Slytherin, remember? We’re not the most patient of people. Though, mind you, we have far more self-control than any of you Gryffindors.”

“Hey,” Weasley said mildly, far too happy munching away on the chocolates he had nicked from Draco to be properly offended.

“Especially you, ginger-head,” Draco rolled his eyes. “And how have you not yet reached the size of Crabbe AND Goyle, with how much you eat?!”

“It’s a talent,” Weasley grinned. Draco made a face and threw an empty wrapping paper in his face.

By far the best news, though, came throughout their return journey to London. A tiny owl turned up outside their window, carrying a letter from Sirius, letting them know that he was safe and sound. 

“‘I am enclosing something else for you’,” Harry read to them in hushed tones. “‘which I hope will make your next year at Hogwarts more enjoyable. If ever you need me, send word. Your owl will find me. I’ll write again soon, Sirius’.”

“What did he send?” Draco demanded, snatching the envelope out of Harry’s hand impatiently and checking for himself. Inside was another piece of parchment, giving Harry permission to visit Hogsmeade next term. 

“That’ll be good enough for Dumbledore!” Harry grinned, pleased. “Hang on, there’s a PS… ‘I thought your friend Ron might like to keep this owl, as it’s my fault he no longer has a rat.’”

Said owl, a tiny, overexcited Scops owl, was - after inspection by Crookshanks for authenticity - happily adopted into the Weasley family. 

So when they arrived at King’s Cross, all of them were in unusually good spirits, especially when Weasley reminded him that England was housing the Quidditch World Cup this summer.

“How about it, Harry?” he grinned. “Come and stay, and we’ll go and see it! Dad can usually get tickets from work!”

“Brilliant, we’ll have to meet up!” Draco smiled. “We’ll  _ definitely _ be going. Father would never _not_ show his face at such an event. It’s a safe bet!”

Weasley made a face at the mention of Draco’s father - not that Draco could blame him - but nodded. 

“Great!” he said. “I’ll let you know our plans then!”

“Thanks. It’ll be good to get out of the Manor for some matches.”

“I can imagine,” Harry smiled, though a little tightly. “Don’t let your father get to you, alright?”

“Don’t worry about him,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Mother has him under control. Better worry about your Muggle relatives.”

“Oh,” Harry said, grinning. “I have a feeling they’ll be very pleasant this summer.”

He held up Sirius’ letter meaningfully, and a smirk spread over Draco’s face in understanding.

“I reckon you’re right,” he agreed as they stepped out onto the busy platform. “I will expect regular letters this summer, then.”

“I’ll do my best,” Harry vowed. 


End file.
